Counting Days
by lumos maximum
Summary: /"You waltz in here," Hermione roared. "Clearly out of your mind and request my help with importing illegal dragons to England."/All Draco thinks he needs is a dragon to live but Granger, Magics 1# lawyer, don't trust Malfoys. Then again, why should she?
1. Romanian Water

**SWEDISHA/N + DISCLAIMER: **Welcome to another Dramione fic! After Crossing Lines, Laws and Love, I couldn't resist so here we are. This is specially written for **Tat1312** who requested this story. She gave me this adorable plotbunny, that she owns, and **J.K.** owns the amazing characters, whom we all love. And _Thanks!_ to **Darkness Approaches **for BETA-reading this chapter.

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Oh, and your reviews do warm ones heart but one shall not beg for unworthy ones, feel encouraged though.

_With that, enjoy. _

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**Counting Days**  
_By: Lumos Maximum_  
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Chapter one:  
**Romanian Water**

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**[Day 1]**

It was a Thursday night, March the sixteenth when Draco Malfoy arrived inRomania with nothing more than a bag of clothes and his wand. Room number 112 in The Hungarian Bull as the inn was called was nothing of the first class expectations he had when he first arrived. It was dusty, dark and the bed looked so mishandled that Draco shrugged only at the thought of sleeping under the torn sheets this weekend.

"This is your room," the barman who followed Draco up (and carried the luggage for an extra galleon) said. "We could send food and beverages up for you if you're not keen on fraternizing down in the bar, Mister Malfoy."

Draco gazed at the stained table to the left of the mishandled bed and felt immediately ill by actually consuming anything as vital as food by that table.

"I'll be down soon. Have a Butterbeer ready for me," Draco ordered. "But I will not fraternize with those down there."

"Very well, we'll be expecting you soon then," the barman said, did a courtesy nod towards Draco and turned around to leave him alone. He could've sworn that the barman muttered some of the regular curses the servants insisted on muttering before he closed the door.

He started to unpack the few items he had packed by turning his bag upside-down on the bed. Out fell two travel robes made of the softest of silks, a couple of changes, a pair of dragon skin boots with matching gloves, a pair of normal leather boots, four vials of a deep purple substance and a notepad filled with scribbles and notes. He observed the dragon skin boots, thinking if wearing them would endanger his cause because this weekend in Romania came down to finding a dragon good enough to fulfill his purposes. He grabbed one of the vials and swooped it up, not liking the taste judging by his expression, let out a dry cough and decided that he should go down to have that Butterbeer to make the foul taste disappear. After a quick scribble in the notepad and deciding that normal leather shoes would be the way to go in Romania, he locked the door behind him and went down to the bar.

If his bedroom was shabby it was nothing to the bar that was dark, badly lit and smelled of porridge and whiskey. Draco wrinkled his nose, knowing that he wasn't in any possible state of demanding things but wouldn't accept anything less than he could get. He settled down at the end of the long bar table, in the dark corner by the stair**s**, far away from the huge singing crowd by the fireplace. The barman shot him a forced smile and gave him the Butterbeer he pre-ordered but just as he was going to start sipping he caught a glimpse of a redheaded man.

"I know you," the man shouted as he spotted Draco in his dark corner.

"Charlie Weasley," Draco muttered to himself, recognizing the man from the list of dragon handlers he studied before starting his travel. Whatever the case was, one thing was certain; Draco was in no mood to have a Weasel harassing him during _these_ _days_ so he ignored the short but built man who seemed to approach him casually with one whiskey in his hand and a bowl of bar nuts in the other.

"Hey, Draco Malfoy, isn't it?" Charlie asked. "I see you, you know, there aren't many pale, blonds over here in Romania."

Draco cursed his good looks as he always did when obnoxious girls were approaching or in this case Charlie Weasley. "Well, hello Weasley," He started dryly because that's how you handle the Weasleys, "There should be more blondes here; you're an _awful_ looking lot."

"I couldn't agree more, although I get around too much for being ginger," Charlie replied, looking content despite the unhealthy condition of the bar nuts he was promptly stuffing himself with. "Ignoring our family disputes for a moment – how much they might fascinate you – answer this. What are you doing here?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Draco hissed.

"Very well, if you're playing hard to get, you could at least drink with me," Charlie replied with some untamed bliss radiating from him."It would be a nice change to listen to correct English for a while."

"Who said something about talking?" Draco asked dryly.

"Then drink in silence, this one is from me," Charlie proceeded, unwilling to let Draco leave his company. Charlie tapped on the bar and the barman offered Draco a glass of something Draco recalled as being Romanian Water, like Firewhisky but brutal as his dad explained it as when they sipped it during his 17th birthday. The memory from that birthday was hazy and awful and he was pretty sure that Pansy Parkinson was in that haze of somewhere. After that experience he had problems enjoying the finer liquors such as Firewhiskey and Blue Cognac. Draco chose to observe the glass of Romanian Water Charlie bought him until he decided to sip from his own Butterbeer for a while, preferably all night.

"I always knew yeh Malfoys were sissies, that's why yeh here, yeh prob – probably escaping some lot who're chasing yeh with a fork," Charlie stuttered while butchering the English language with a faked Scottish accent. He had been consuming more Romanian Water than Draco had been consuming Butterbeer in a matter of minutes and according to him they were best friends. "See, see how fun speaking – even in Scottish – can be?"

Draco sighed and prayed that this horrible night would be over. Men who couldn't hold down their liquor were worse than women who drank Draco thought and here was a man, robust and fit and fighting dragons for a living stuttering in Scottish in the shabbiest bar Draco has seen, yet.

"You're embarrassing," Draco told Charlie. "I just wanted to point that out."

"You're embarrassing," Charlie copied and laughed loudly.

"Okay, mature, that's my queue to go," Draco declared and stood up to leave the room in a dramatic matter. He just needed to sleep, that's all, he didn't need this and especially not from a Weasley.

"Hey, sissy, yeh haven't finished the drink yet," Charlie pointed out with his thick finger towards the Romanian Water but Draco had no interest in having a conversation with the drunken red head or accepting the drink that caused the redhead to become a slob.

"Oi – " Charlie continued with a sobering tone, causing Romanians and travelers to turn to him. He stood up and lifted his arms high to hold a speech for the people and they were all ears. "I know what you are doing here, we all do! You're a Malfoy, right. So who is it that wants a pet dragon? Your mum, your dad? No – it's probably your sibling."

"I don't have siblings," Draco pointed out and felt aggravated as the chuckles from the back filled the bar.

"Then tell me, Malfoy, why are you here in Romania? There are no beaches, not that you could do anything with that lack of tan you already sport," Charlie mocked in classic English. "You're here for the dragons, aren't you?"

"Aren't you?" Draco asked, not in the mood of anything right now. His throat was soar, this trip had been awful so far and this big, annoying redhead was getting on his last nerve.

"Well, it's stupid, that much I'll give you. Manners to your favor but having a dragon – some say it's inbreed that's making you rich people dumb, I've always blamed the money," Charlie explained, slugging Draco friendly on the arm. Draco was thrown back a bit by the force that Charlie possessed; he almost flew off his barstool and it was supposed to be a friendly one.

As a last resort to show who was the one with the power, Draco stood up and turned dangerous. "Watch it, Weasel," he snapped.

"Don't call me that," Charlie warned with a tone as dangerous as Draco's. It was with a triumphant smirk that Charlie added, "Ferret."

Draco took a leap of faith and swung at Charlie, determined to sucker punch the slob for calling him that and feeling lucky because Charlie was pissed, Romanian style. He missed by two meters because Charlie went to the left. Draco aimed again, now at a laughing Charlie yelling all kind of things in Romanian to his fellow bar mates who cheered the fight on. He missed again and the blood started to boil inside. Charlie aimed towards his stomach and managed to make him crumple and fall back to his seat.

"Stop fighting _it_, Malfoy, it's no use," Charlie chanted somewhere over his head, perhaps it was about the fighting but something in Draco told him that Charlie wasn't only referring to that.

Draco could taste the blood in his mouth as he added, "Quitting is for the weak."

He stood up, glared at Charlie and decided that another swing at him was the fair thing to do. He aimed ruthlessly at the nose, thinking that the dramatic effect of the blood would honor him enough to cover the fall he just did but he hit the cheek with a force that surprised Charlie more than affected him. The next thing he saw was the clutched fist of Charlie hitting him so hard across the face that he staggered back a few steps before he fell down at the bar floor.

"Merlin," Charlie said somewhere over Draco's head with surprise in his voice.

"That looks nasty, eh," someone else whispered from the left.

"My good man, you owe him something for that one," a soft voice added all the way from the back.

"Damn, I'm already in debt," was all Charlie said as he leaned over Draco's body and pointed with the leg of a broken barstool.

"Do you think he hears us?" was the last thing Draco heard before he went deaf and everything turned black.

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**[Day 2]**

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When Draco woke up he realized two things, his whole body was hurting and he was so wounded that the only thing he could smell were fat sausages being burned. If this was dying and entering the hell he deserved all along he was satisfied because he got the easy way out. The pain was okay but the burned sausage smell was something that would haunt him forever. When he opened his eyes three other things came to his realization, he was sleeping in a pink sleeping bag, right under the morning sun, his head pounded worse than after a regular bar night and hell was not in some underground kingdom of flames but in the woods.

"Where?" was the first word Draco uttered in hell but he didn't need to say more when footsteps against the grass approached him along with the memories from yesterday.

"Morning, mate," Charlie said and let a tinplate with sausages and egg fall next to Draco's head. Draco didn't catch the morning, only the 'mate'.

"You hit me and we're _not_ mates," Malfoy said, only to confirm the events from yesterday.

"Yeah, yesterday," Charlie said, chuckling as he reminisced about yesterday's events. "Pretty nice fight, don't you think?"

Draco didn't agree a bit.

"Well, consider it as your welcome-to-Romania fight, I'll be damned if you manage to stay in Romania without fighting at least once," Charlie added and pointed towards the eggs. "Hurry up; I have something to show you."

Draco glared at Charlie who looked so natural in his rough leather jacket, wild red hair and weather bitten skin. This might be Charlie's element but Draco was not having this, he came for dragons not the Weasley field trip. "There is nothing of interest here," he told Charlie and gave the burned sausages an extra hate filled stare.

"Silly me, well it happens to be that I owe you so you'll have to insist," Charlie muttered and shoved the tinplate of breakfast closer to Draco's head.

To look more dignified Draco sat up, still wrapped into a pink sleeping and tried to physically look proper. "You don't owe me a thing."

"Well, if you saw yourself in the mirror right now, you would agree," Charlie assured him and turned around. "Hurry up, I have dragons to feed to, you know. Eat and meet me outside the fence," he added and walked towards the path that led to the big forest to Draco's left.

At the word _dragon_ Draco knew that he had somehow managed to get himself into a dragon camp by getting punched last night. He tried to eat the breakfast because his body needed the energy but at the third bite of the burned food he gave up and when he saw his reflection against the tin plate his appetitedisappeared for that night. His right eye, more known to Draco as the place where the pain laid, was swollen and the shiner was turning in the nastiest shades. Charlie might've owed him something, Draco reasoned, but he personally owned Charlie a shiner worthy the one he got.

He got out of the pink sleeping bag, stared around in the simple camp that was nothing more than a fire, randomly chosen kitchen supplies, tanks of water and empty sleeping bags spread around on the green grass. When he was unable to locate the bathroom he decided that he could do one day without grooming.

He walked towards the path he saw Charlie take, and walked through the forest in silence. Morning birds sang from high up on the high tree crowns that illuminated most of the sun and the smell of burned sausages was replaced by the smell of different flowers blossoming over his head. This was quite peaceful, Draco admitted shamefully, as he walked on the path that became smaller and darker. Secretly he wished that the path would be longer than it seemed to be.

When he finally walked out of the forest path he ended up in a clearing where Charlie stood with his wand held up high against one, huge dragon that shifted in red and deep brown. The flat nose, sharp teeth and bright red eyes that glimmered like sapphires in the sun were the trademarks of the German Redeye, just the type of Dragon Draco came to see.

The dragon was busy spitting fire feverishly and trying to escape from the big chains that held it to the ground when Charlie let out a petrified yell followed by a motherly rant. Needless to say that the smell of things burning was intoxicating the clearing and Draco thought he ended up in hell after all. He watched the dragon spit uncontrolled fire towards Charlie who tried to calm it down by chanting 'Jean' and sending stupefying curses at it. They must've battled for a good ten minutes before the dragon settled down with a look that Draco assumed was agony, if animals – or beast could feel.

"Can it feel?" Draco asked, suddenly very uncomfortable with the dragon's presence.

"Merlins saggy ones!" Charlie exclaimed. "You have to ask this? Look at her, her eyes are deep red instead of the blistering red they used to be and her skin is shifting in brown instead of the red it should. She can't stop spitting fire and that sound." He paused to listen to the razzing breaths of the dragon that were followed by a wimping kind of sound that made the hair on Draco's arms rise.

"It hurts her," Draco finished and stared deep into the dark red eyes and felt a cough build up from deep down of his lungs.

Charlie explained. "I would've taken her myself if I could but I don't have the recourses, time or the contacts. Your family is acquainted with Damocles, she needs to meet him."

"Of course, Damocles – the inventor of wolfs bane, great asset to the Malfoy name," Draco said, feeling awfully lucky because he came here to find and get a German Redeye and here stood Charlie Weasley, offering him right between lunch and dinner. It was too easy sometimes. "I'll help her."

"Its impossible to import a Dragon to England without special reasons," Charlie said, looking bewildered. "But would you do it? For Jean?"

He named that monster Jean? Well, there's no means that keeps a Malfoy from getting what he needs these days, he would do it, bring her to England by any means that is and then destiny would do the rest. One dragon less perhaps but he needed her. "I'll do it, only for her."

"I don't believe you," Charlie declared with an icy tone that didn't fit his warm face. "But these are desperate times, not only for you, Malfoy, so I forgive you. I'll leave you two here."

Draco wondered where that twist came from and watched Charlie walk towards the path that led him back to the camp without even rethinking that he was left with a fire spitting, sick and hurting dragon called Jean that could _feel_ things.

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The evening managed to fall above Draco's head where he sat, watching the dragons deep red eyes with a feeling of despair that he couldn't help feeling. She was beautiful, Jean, but she looked so helpless and needy where she lay, chained to four different trees. She wasn't quite free. Once or twice she spat some fire but mostly she whimpered and tried to summon strength to break free from her chains.

"You need her and luckily for you she needs you," said the calm voice from behind. It was Charlie, holding a bottle of Romanian Water and a small vial of purple substance that Draco knew was his. When Draco's eyes widened at the sight of the vial of purple substance Charlie added, "Just something I thought we could drink before you go back to England."

"That was in my luggage – you hit me, stole my luggage and brought me here! And you're your taking my potions. You shouldn't – no, you should be in jail!" Draco started without any use.

"That guilt trip won't work, I had five younger siblings. I know," Charlie said with a smug face. "Just drink it without excusing yourself."

Charlie handed the liquid to Draco who had no other choice than to drink in silence.

"Guess who finances this camp? I think you two are quite familiar to each other," Charlie asked while Draco glared at him.

"Dad?" Draco asked when he finished his potion, immediately feeling childish for referring to the blond aristocrat as Dad.

"Don't be dumber than you are, Draco. He wouldn't do anything that didn't benefit him in the long run, it's actually Abraxas Malfoy, not that he had any say in it but the money is his," Charlie explained.

Draco was sure that if his dad wouldn't do anything without benefit good old Abraxas wouldn't either. The few memories from childhood that Draco had of the man were dry, strict, pitying and smelled of whiskey. He preferred not to reminisce about his grandfather's living days because they caused him to rethink his otherwise perfectness. Instead of showing this to the Weasley he chose to stare at Jean.

"Abraxas had only one rule when he invested in the dragons," Charlie continued instead and let his eyes wonder towards Jean. "That we would help the next Malfoy who came here to. . . watch the dragons."

"Really, how would he know that another Malfoy would come?" Draco retorted. "We're not the outdoorsy types."

"No, but you Malfoys do take all measures before giving up and what you have is genetic," Charlie started and changed the direction of the conversation to a field that Draco had dreaded since he and Charlie first met. "Abraxas knew that someday one of you would need the _help_ from one of us and the day came, I'm sad that it had to be you though – you kind of grew on me."

"You know," Draco realized and the pieces fit, all of them. "You know that I. . ."

"I've known since you arrived, I know that you're sick and that you might die," Charlie told Draco with a gloomy tone. "That's why I needed to talk to you to tell you that we owe your lot. Instead we ended up in a bar fight, which is pretty much 'hello mate' for me but it might not be for you."

"It isn't my idea of a good time, no. But you said that it was impossible to get one of these to England and I need one, you know I need one to. . ." Draco started and let the last thread of fear become visible to Charlie. He expected Charlie to feast on this weak version of himself but instead Charlie yawned, poured up some Romanian Water in a tincup and turned serious.

"There's one lawyer who could work that out for you," Charlie explained calmly.

"Who?" Draco demanded desperately.

"Well, there's only one lawyer who worked in the field of Magical Creatures before going into Law, she's familiar –,"

"She?" Draco interrupted, bewildered.

"Yes, the lawyer is a she, Draco, and a brilliant one too," Charlie repeated, piercing through Draco's head to find out his intentions. "She's Hermione Granger, I'm certain that you are familiar with that household name."

Draco knew perfectly well who Hermione Granger was. She was good but the only problem was that she loved those bloody Magical animals more than anyone (with the exception of Charlie of course), that she was the feistiest lawyer working and the hardest to hire there was because she only fought for cases that were morally _right_. She was also a nosy know-it-all that knew too much about everything, best friends with the whole Auror force and oh, of course, the trickiest one to manipulate. There was also the fact that she hated everything Draco was. Was life really worth trying to get on Grangers good side? He considered for a while before deciding that if he was going return to England as a man with an original plan, attempting honesty that is, he could start by doing things he would never attempt.

"How about that Romanian Water now?" Draco asked, covering a cough and watched Charlie's lips curve into a smile as he poured up the see-through drink in a tin cup. "Make it a double if I'm going to survive this."

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	2. Law Unit 3

**A/N:** When the sun hits Sweden you cant help but leave the computer and gaze lazily at the green grass. It rains today though, and I'm looking for a BETA still. So if you have sun or some spare time over, let me know!

**UPDATE:** _Thanks!_ to **Darkness Approaches **for BETA-reading this chapter.

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Chapter two:  
**Law Unit 3**

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** [Day 3]**

Hermione Granger, a former worker in the Magical Creature department and now a highly respected lawyer worked her way through the hallways of the English Ministry of Magic with a self-confident sway. While she took small sips from the paper cup of take-away coffee from the small Muggle shop by the subway she glanced at the ineffective workers she was surrounded by. More annoyed than she already was with life, love and labor she watched her badly performing co workers in Law Unit 3, the unit she was head over. There was Theodore Nott humming while he looked in the thick book of medical laws at her right. He always murmured 'Good morning' without looking up from his work but somehow he never managed to win a case. Walking further down the hall was Johnson and Mrs. Cattleburn sitting in a corner while gossiping about the _Daily Prophet's_ forecasts. Johnson was a tall, small man while Mrs. Cattleburn took up the two seats next to the sink. When passing them they gave her a meaningful look and she didn't blame them. She too had read the _Daily Prophet_ and the rubric "Weasley moves on" followed by a nine page spread about the scandalous partying her ex had been involved in was a nice start to her morning.

It had been her fault that the Weasley moved on, growing up was too much to ask from a man who didn't know how, but after three months of waking up alone in bed she knew that she would never get used to the feeling of it. Some nights she missed him but she always had Harry left and that was at least something.

"Hang in there, kitty," Mrs. Cattleburn yelled and pointed at the rubric above a picture of the redhead. She gave Johnson and Mrs. Cattleburn a meaning nod, saying 'I'm okay', and continued on observing their useless gossip in the corner of her eye. Hastily she passed Millicent Bulstrode's empty booth and Ken Gobblinstone's dusty cubical, knowing that they were involved in things that were not office appropriate and cursed the laziness of her department inwardly. Despite the ineffective employees around her Hermione sighed as she reached her secretary at the end of the hallway, being the most ineffective of them all.

Hermione approached and cleared her throat to announce her arrival to her secretary.

"Oh, good morning, Miss Granger," The bleach blonde and blue eyed woman said, slightly alarmed.

"Good morning, Astoria, any messages or have you been busy doing. . . other things?" Hermione said in a way that she hoped felt like a warning against PM'ing the International Sports secretary on working hours.

"Ehm, no, right," Astoria replied while glancing through the many papers that came for Hermioine before handing them to her. "There's this case about the French Prime minister attacking the _Daily Prophet_ that you should look into, Nott handled the investigation but it went . . . well, and you have a lunch meeting with Minister Shacklebolt oh, and The Chosen One booked you during the afternoon."

"Harry Potter," Hermione corrected and shifted through the papers she was given and read through the endless amount of information without taking notice of the shifting Astoria.

"Yes, Harry Potter," Astoria echoed. "And I guess you saw what the _Daily Prophet_ wrote today so _he_ came by and left you a message, want to hear it?"

An unexpected pause followed, in which Astoria waited for a reply from Hermione. Hermione looked up from her papers to wonder why on earth Astoria would ask such a silly question. "Well, yes, of course I wonder what _he_ said!" she yelled and let her eyes wander back to the papers in her hand with her eyebrows furrowing even more as she cursed the incompetence of the secretary.

"Oh – he said: 'It's not like it looks. You know I can't hold more than a bottle down'," Astoria recited in deep concentration and added, "Oh, and there's someone here, too. In your office."

"Really?" Hermione said, smiling slightly by the two pleasant pieces of news Astoria just gave her. She was very aware of Ron's incapacity of drinking more than a bottle of Firewhisky, a thing she always beat him on, and she was even more aware of the fact that McLaggen planned a secret visit sometime, or so he told her at a benefit banquet last week. She had loathed the handsome _boy_ for as long as she remembered but with her nonfunctioning relationship with Ron still stinging, McLaggen's visit would be a pleasant 'surprise'.

"Who is he?" Hermione asked, mostly to hear Astoria's envy poison her voice. McLaggen was after all the second hottest male in Britain today according to _The_ _Weekly Witch_, number one – third year running - being her beloved Harry.

"He is dreamy. . ." Astoria said instead and her eyes went dim. It was not the desired effect, Hermione admitted, but it was better than hearing Astoria going on and on about the bloody International Sports committee's gorgeous employees (especially the secretary) like she usually did when the subjects were men. "He's been waiting for a while now," Astoria added and gestured to the door behind her desk. "I told him to wait in your office."

"Right, don't make that a habit though," Hermione heard herself reply.

She observed her looks in a nearby glass window; a slim woman, clad in a gray pen skirt and shirt, bushy hair all over her head, face stern and eyebrows furrowed in concentration was what she saw before she passed by Astoria and opened the door to her office. When opening the door, ready to face McLaggen with all his looks covering the peanut he had for a brain, she saw the last thing she expected. In _her_ thick, leather seat she saw the back head of a blond male with a black suit and a pale neck. The white color of his collar almost faded in with his skin and that turning of his head to face her was stiff and slow.

She met his eyes and quickly thought of iron; gray, stale and very chilly. There was no doubt, she thought as she looked at the pointed chin and the small pink lips, that this was Draco Malfoy sitting in her leather seat, in her office and looking out her window.

"Hello, Granger," Draco said with that tone that she hadn't heard for years. It sent chills down her spine, just thinking how much he was like his father.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, flabbergasted. "And in my chair, while we're at it?"

"Didn't Astoria tell you that I was waiting here?" Draco asked her, clearly knowing the answer already. "The Greengrasses are forgetful."

"She used the word dreamy. . ." Hermione heard herself say. _Not Death Eater _she added silently to herself but regretted that in an instant.

"I'll keep that in mind," Draco replied after a stiff silence, in which she felt plain stupid, and stood up from her thick leather chair. "Here," he said and gestured towards her chair.

Hermione walked through the room and passed Draco who, quite frankly, oozed of cologne and schemes, the latter much to her annoyance.

"Wait," Draco burst out, making Hermione turn around to face him. He reached out his hand to shake hers. He hated her guts, she knew, but at least he had manners. With a last glance at Draco with her eyes narrowed, she grabbed his hand and shook it in a rather unnatural way. The only thing she noted was that his hand was polished to perfection and that his hand was far from the icy cold external he sported. It was warm, almost moist, and smooth as the tie around his neck looked. When the few seconds of awkward handshaking was over she told him to sit in front of her.

"I know how this seems," Draco started as he tugged his tie a bit. She wondered how his smooth hand against his smooth looking tie felt. "To be honest, I hat – _dislike_ you as much as you dislike me and I want to disinfect my hands with Healer Hodges Handsoap after that awkward handshake we just shared –,"

"The feeling is mutual," Hermione interrupted, clearly not enjoying his choice of words. All pleasant thoughts about him left her instantly.

"I doubt that, Granger," Draco said dryly, not enjoying the interruption.

"You might benefit from telling me why you're here, Malfoy, or I'll have you. . . escorted out," Hermione replied with the same dryness in her voice, her mood already bad.

"Right," Draco said with an aggravated expression across his face. "I'll get right to the point then."

Hermione waited for him to 'get to the point' in silence but Draco seemed to take longer than expected to formulate himself accurately and his eyes were darting across the room frequently before he met her eyes.

"The point is that this meeting is of no importance to me," he said shortly. "I wish nothing more than _not_ having this conversation with you," he added before he started to dig into his pockets after something.

She gaped, not understanding where those unprovoked words came from. She didn't tolerate bullying, less of bullying when the bully was the one ordering a meeting with her. Getting a meeting with her had been proven very difficult because of her sporadic – but highly vital - schedule she had been told by her latest client, Mrs. Eagleclaw, who by the way didn't insult her. "You're an arse," she said and felt proud of her witty comeback.

Instead of replying he fished up a white feather quill and tore a piece of parchment of one of her many scrolls on the desk and started to scribble something quickly. She watched bewildered at his irrational behavior and waited for him to finish.

"You're a disgrace to the law enforcement," Draco muttered. "Incompetent one must say," he added and gave her the note.

_You're being eavesdropped on.  
When does the Greengrass get off work tomorrow?_  
Draco had written on the note.

She glanced over his shoulder to look towards the door where two pair of the extendable ears had been. Slowly it dawned on her that the man in front of her was keen on noticing details and above that had trust issues. She pointed at her wrist and raised six fingers and he gave her the smallest nod she had seen in the history of mankind.

"I'll never come back to this rotten hole," Draco announced as he stood up with a dry tone, indifferently he rose seven fingers, pointed on the floor to set the place and gave her a last glance before he turned around to exit the room. She cursed silently when she found herself enjoying the view of Draco exiting a room.

After her moment of weakness she stood up, straightened her bun and headed towards the shut door. Opening the door she saw Draco finding Astoria on her knees on the floor with one ear plastered on the door and one extendable ear.

"What a convenient position for a Greengrass," she heard him say and he gave Astoria a taunting smile. The shame spread quickly across Astoria's face when she realized the full meaning in his words. "That reminds me, say hi to your sister," he added and went past Astoria and through the hallway towards the elevator, only stopping to exchange a few words with Nott before leaving the floor.

When the elevator doors shut behind Draco both Hermione and Astoria was reminded of each other's presence. Astoria stood up, brushed herself clean and faced Hermione, still with the red dots all over her face.

"Sorry," Astoria said, "I couldn't help myself to. . . It's just that – ,"

"_Don't_ make it a habit," Hermione said with a forced voice and gave her the same icy stare before raising her wand and making the door go shut behind Astoria who seemed slightly relieved.

Hermione exhaled when she was sure that she wasn't being overheard, wondering what could be so important to Draco that it could not been said in front of Astoria. Astoria is, after all, the one who files and categorizes all the files and cases into the archive and she is the one taking her calls, making her appointments and sometimes giving her halfhearted advice. She sighed now, looking at the pile that was today's work and knowing that this new excitement and mystery that Draco brought into her office would occupy her mind for the better half of the day. And looking at yet another case that Nott failed to win she would not mind pondering about what it was that brought Draco to her office instead of the failure that maintaining Wizarding Law proved itself to be sometimes.

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	3. Cause of Death: Granger

**A/N:** Written for those who wonders about the dragons and the illness effect - and for those who loves some bickering ;).  
Oh, and _Thanks!_ to **Darkness Approaches **for BETA-reading this chapter.

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Chapter three:  
**Cause of Death: Granger  
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**[Day 4]**

Draco found himself alone in the elevator the following day. He tugged his tie, as usual, and was very carefully putting back those straws of hair that managed to break out of his hairdo. He liked his hair like that, slick and firm, mostly because it made people feel uneasy and he knew that he was an intolerable snob like that. Today, however, smiling towards the elevator mirror and admiring the handsome man that smiled back was a perfect timewaster because his young face, he thought, had to be forever.

The elevator reached the floor and he stepped out, looking sharp and superior as always and proceeded to pass one empty cubical after another until he reached the empty desk where Astoria usually sat. The lack of Astoria's greeting annoyed him a bit, she had confused him with her presence when she led him to Hermione's office yesterday but now he had to seek the lawyer out, alone.

Draco looked around in the empty floor, confused over what brought him to this scene between sipping Romanian Water with Charlie and staring into the red depths of the dragon, Jean. Instead of concerning his pretty head with Wizarding fashion, dating witches, the purity of bloodlines and Quiddich like the average wizard in his twenties he was forced to worry about seeking out Granger, convincing Granger, dragons, potions, trying to live and looking well and, of course, gorgeous. Truth be told, he was not sure that his youth would be forever. He was badly sick and some nights, when the nights were at their darkest he laid sleepless, worrying himself mad.

It was the fright of what would happen if his meeting with Hermione didn't go well that made him remember to take his evening dose. He downed the vial with the purple liquid with a spasm on his face. After swallowing the last drop of the disgusting mix he saw a separate hallway behind Astoria's desk. Walking through the almost hidden hallway he saw the sign "Hermione Granger – Head of Law Unit 3" at the end of the narrow hallway and was bewildered by his luck. Contently, he walked towards it and knocked one time.

"You're late," Hermione muttered when she opened the door for him almost immediately.

It was the second time tonight that he had been disappointed in the greeting area. "It's 7:05," he said, knowing that it was seven o ten.

"Its 7:10," Hermione corrected and left him standing by the door to get seated.

He invited himself into the office, not expecting her to do so, and got seated. The taste of the potion was still stinging in his mouth and that made him wrinkle his nose a bit, that and her badly decorated office.

"Well?" Hermione pushed, probably misreading the wrinkled nose to be dislike towards her.

He didn't bother to correct her since she had been nothing but impolite, bitter and quite frankly herself as he saw her. "Aren't we cranky," he pushed back. "Might it be that you too subscribe to the _Prophet's_ evening issue?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed to slits and he smirked inwardly, yes, the _Evening Prophet_ was quite an interesting read this evening where Weasel had been spotted with his new love interest outside the Leaky Cauldron. Not that he cared about Weasel, Merlin, who did? It was more that he looked genuinely happy on the cover with that unidentified female witch, happy in like he struck a pot of Knuts for once.

He knew that she must've seen that spread that was decorated with cupids and misshaped hearts because when she asked, "Why are you here then?" with a poisonous voice he could do nothing other than relax.

"Not to talk about this," he said and leaned back in the uncomfortable seat. "I need a lawyer."

"Oh," Hermione said with one eyebrow raised. "There's Mrs. Cattleburn, Johnson, Millicent Bulstrode and Ken Gobblinstone in law unit three," Hermione started and counted the lawyers on her fingers. "Oh, and Theodore Nott."

"Nott?" he asked and felt a small smile tugging. "Has he ever won a case?"

"He has!" Hermione defended and paused. "Almost."

He could not cover his laugh. "If it was not for his father's interest in 'maintaining the structure of the building' he would not even have a job."

Hermione looked as something had dawned to her, a rather thick sight to behold he noted.

"The power of the galleon," Draco said and was feeling philosophical all the sudden.

"There's only power in knowledge and what comes with it," Hermione replied shortly and furrowed her eyebrows in anger without understanding the depth of his words. "You're sidetracking, get to the point."

Draco knew what 'the point' was. He had to get Dragon Jean from Romania, where Charlie had her, to England. Simply because there were laws and the Dragon is a bit too big for his mansion he needed her intellect to get the Dragon here. Once in England the antidote, made by fresh Dragon tears and brewed under a fire from the Dragon, would be brewed in secrecy by the only known wizard who could do this – his family's friend, Damocles. One trip on the tongue and one on the heart would do it and he would be safe. After the actual healing he had to pretend to actually care about what became of the Dragon. . . because there was one thing he knew that would happen. This was something he would certainly not tell Granger but for him to live the Dragon would have to die. _Tears and sweat of a dragon are the heartbeats of man,_ it was written in _Ancient Cures_ where Draco had studied his illness, _one death man must pay in sweat and tears._ This was too much to think of, and to summarize, and something as important as life was hanging on a thread. That it was his life made things worse.

"The point is that I want a dragon and you're obviously the only one who knows how to get around these stupid laws and get one to England," Draco said shortly. He thought this was everything Granger deserved to hear to make her duties as his lawyer.

"I beg your pardon," Hermione said instead of the 'sounds reasonable' he expected and the thick look of not comprehending was once again visible across her face. "Because if I caught that right the word 'dragon' was in the same sentence as the country 'England'."

"And Charlie called her brilliant, even Longbottom is less thick," he murmured to himself, half hoping that she would caught some of it. "I need," Draco pronounced clearly and loudly, mostly making Hermione's eyes narrow down to slits. "A dragon. In England. You know, _this_ country."

"I'll have nothing to do with your evil schemes, Malfoy," Hermione snapped, outraged. "And I heard you the first time. All of it."

"Good," Draco hissed, not bothering to comment on her refusal. "That's a lot of hair to hear through," he added honestly.

He might've pushed that too far, he admitted, but she was getting on his last nerve by not granting him his wishes. Did she not know the pressure he was constantly under? She, however, looked less like an understanding human and more like a mad dragon when she stood up from her chair and drew her wand up and almost pierced his throat with it.

"Listen to me curse you in English, Spanish and _Latin_," Hermione hissed. "I promise you that you won't hear any of that when I'm done."

Now this turned out to be too much for Draco. Sure, he could endure the occasional female moods and he accepted - and enjoyed - that Hermione had a bad day because of the _Evening Prophet_ but threats. . . A Malfoy is not mistreated without any casualties, it has been recorded throughout history and Draco was not going to be the first.

"What's your price?" Draco whispered, and he slowly drew up a pouch from his left pocket, filled with sapphires, knowing that this was the right way of aggravating that stupid lawyer.

Hermione, who looked like she had never been this offended in her whole life, pushed her wand harder against his throat, outraged and started to yell, "How dare you!"

"Everybody has a price, Granger, even those pretending to be the good ones –," Draco retorted, smirking, but the rage of Hermione couldn't be prevented nor could the new coughs that built up in his throat.

"You waltz in here," Hermione roared. "Clearly out of your mind and request my help with importing illegal dragons to England."

Draco could think of nothing else than her wand against his throat, it was making him soar and it annoyed his airways. He chose not to reply but focused instead on not showing any weakness.

"Aren't you going to reply to that?" Hermione asked but Draco just glared at her.

He had a lot to tell her. First of all that she was nuts, secondly that she was the most annoying person on the face of this earth, thirdly that his request wasn't illegal – he didn't need help from her with illegal – and lastly that she was _really_ nuts. Instead, he kept quiet and focused on not coughing. He felt his eyes turn teary by the struggle but he couldn't show her that he was sick . . . she was too smart – no, too much know-it-all to not know – and she'd know the true meaning of his arrival.

Hermione might've spotted his teary eyes, and reflected on what she was doing because she changed her threatening mood to something completely else, she looked horrified. When she seemed to realize what she was doing to a possible client, if he had his way, she looked horrorstricken. She lowered her wand and stared at him like he was something foreign.

"I'm sorry, - I didn't," Hermione stuttered, dropped the wand on her desk and drew her hands up to cover her mouth. "I didn't want to make you . . . so sad," she mumbled with a muffled voice.

Draco glared at her behind his tears. Stupid girl he thought as he watched her big, brown eyes widen every second. There were things tickling all over but worse was his throat that felt like it burned and finally he let himself cough. And he didn't stop. Dry coughs filled the silence and he cursed between the inhales of air and the glimpses of her horrified expression.

Hermione blinked. "Aguamenti," she said after gripping her wand again and pointing towards an empty glass. She held up the glass of cold water towards him and waited for him to grab it.

Draco glared at her and her stupid glass of water after the last cough left his lungs. Death was assuredly a far more pleasant experience than being around Hermione Granger voluntarily, he reasoned, and stood up, turned around and left the room.

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How is this fic turning out to be? _Leave un review, porfavor!_


	4. Six Letters and a Pixie

**SWEDISHA/N:** Really, **Darkness Approaches**, Gilderoy over Gyllenroy? That's hilarious. Nevertheless, thank you for BETA-reading this. Oh, and **tat1312**! Don't give up on me, yet. I'm getting there.

And for you, _reader_, here's chapter four of this tale. Chapter five will arrive shortly.

_Enjoy!_

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Chapter four:  
**Six Letters and a Pixie**

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**[Day 5]**

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_Hi Hermione!_

_I know that this is not what you expected to arrive today._

Hermione glanced at the oversized pixie that was working its way through her oatmeal. It was most certainly not a letter that she expected when she saw a blue pixie knocking on her window. Her heart _might've_ skipped a beat, thinking of Gilderoy Lockhart, but it quickly resumed beating when she continued to read.

_I'm writing to you because you have to help Draco.  
Not all his intentions are evil, although his last name  
is Malfoy. (But he's still an arrogant nitwit.)  
If you decline his request then do it for the Weasleys  
and the dragons here. Beg him to explain thoroughly  
what it is that he needs because I have a feeling that  
you two didn't get along when you met. I wouldn't write  
you if it was not of importance but it's for the love of  
my dragons. It's all about the dragon in the end._

Charlie

"It's a bloody dragon in England," Hermione burst and waved her hand at the hungry pixie that fled to her orange juice instead. No, Charlie was clearly being blackmailed and the Ministry of Magic is through with their blackmailing days and above that it was clearly impossible to transport anything that big, that illegal, and that fire-spitting to England if it wasn't the TriWizard tournament. She was going to have a normal working day, doing legal things and trying to forget everything about Ron who was doing that silly, happy frown from the cover of the _Prophet_ and the mentioning of Draco Malfoy in Charlie's stupid letters about his love for his stupid dragons.

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**[Day 6]**

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_Hermione._

_It has come to my knowledge that you and Draco  
have not discussed the dragons, yet. I do hope you  
find the time to do so. It's of great importance to  
many of those who are involved. Oh, and you two  
say hi to mum, dad and the other brothers from me._

_And Ginny and Harry of course!_

Charlie

Hermione sighed when she re-read the morning letter that came with the annoying pixie. Refusing to reply to Charlie's mail or share her oatmeal today she trashed the letter, shooed the pixie and Apparated to work with a furrowed brow. "Oh, and you two. . ." echoed in her mind while the entry of the ministry started to take shape. What bliss to not subscribe to the _Prophet,_ she thought when she walked once again through the hallways where her co-workers gave her looks of sympathy. Then again, it was not every day the headline 'LLL -LAWYER LACKS LOVE' covered pages two and three.

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**[Day 7]**

_._

_Hermione._

_I am afraid that I'm finding myself annoying.  
It seems that Draco and you have no interest  
in the matter. I understand that you have  
a lot of work to attend to and Ron can be a  
handful to be around (sorry Ron if you read  
this) but find the time to visit Draco. I am  
afraid that he is giving up a crucial thing._

Charlie.  
P.S. Say hi to mum and dad.

It had been a really annoying morning, she had woken up with frizzier hair than normal, less sleep than intended, and she felt ill. Nor was it pleasant to hear about Dragons, Draco Malfoy, and Ron every morning from one of _his_ relatives. And that pixie! It worked through her oatmeal before she had time to read the letter once again so she heard her stomach growl disapprovingly.

She watched the _Daily Prophet _where the headline, "War hero Ronald with unidentified companion," was written in sharp, black letters. It was with a whip of her wand that she cut out the article where Ron was smiling contently with the unidentified companion and placed it intothe small scroll where she had written, _'Your pixie is eating my oatmeal._'

Angrily she saw the pixie fly away.

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**[Day 8]**

_.  
Hermione._

_First, I'm sorry. I still thought that you  
and Ron were going out. I have to subscribe  
to that junk I guess; it's just that it got worse  
for every issue. Now, to the real matter behind  
my letters, the Dragon issue. I've recommended  
you to Draco and if he threats you wrongly then  
I understand but if you refuse to help him because  
you and Ron broke it off then I am sorry. You're  
still family (and Ron is often a git) and in the end  
it's all about the dragons._

Charlie

It was no use. Hermione thought of the persistent Charlie who never seemed to give up and of those beautiful animals that were so misunderstood. They were beautiful with their thick skin shimmering in the sun and their magic was unique. She loved magical animals and had long worked in that area before studying law, but dragons had a special place in her heart. After being chased by one in Gringotts a couple of years ago she had many feverish dreams where these animals were a constant threat, but she came over them with the help of Ron and . . .

"PIXIE!" she burst. The little gnome had been, once again, violating everything breakfast was by bathing in her freshly made bowl of delicious oatmeal.

It was with a sigh that she wrote:

_Greetings  
I am aware of your intentions. I however, doubt his.  
Whatever he has promised you, he will fail you.  
That being said, I am not writing him, nor am I helping him.  
It's for the dragons if anything. He knows where to find me._

Hermione.

_P.S. Your pixie lack __manners__. _

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**_[Day 9]_**

**_._**

One short letter from Charlie came that morning.

_Hermione_

_Perfect, I'm sorry for the trouble this will cause you but it has to be done.  
I'll take care of this. Expect a visit tomorrow._

_Charlie_

Despite that the level of annoyance that this letter brought her was lower than usual; there was only one thing that made her day just right.

"Petrificus Totalus," she roared and the Pixies arms and legs locked. It was with a sadistic grin that she watched the Pixie fall stiffly on the kitchen table with mad eyes staring right at her.

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**_[Day 10]_**

**_._**

There was knock on her door late that night and with wand ready she opened it. Standing in front of her was Draco Malfoy with a piece of paper in his hand and a scrutinizing look.

"I've been getting annoying letters from your ex's brother," Draco exclaimed before he said hello and invited himself into her living room, much to her disapproval. He scanned through the badly decorated living room quickly before he added, "Wow, and you actually live here voluntarily."

"Charlie seems fond of you," she replied sourly, ego a bit wounded. "Why, I can't figure out."

"Guess I'm likeable," Draco said and got seated on her sofa.

She observed him sitting on her sofa, and it was a remarkable sight to behold. The sofa, an old sofa from Bill and Fleur's previous home, had been a family friendly sofa that she made her own when Fleur bought a new one from France. It was batted, torn and there was an inked-in word on the middle cushion. It was that word that made the sofa worth saving. She remembered a night many years ago when she spent a holiday at Bill and Fleur's with the Weasleys. She had been sitting on that sofa with Ron as far as possible at the other end. They had been fighting as usual, about her many work hours this time, and both were sitting and pouting the whole night.

When the silence finally killed Ron he took one of Victorie's quills and wrote 'sorry' on the middle cushion for her to read. He ruined the sofa because it was a permanent ink quill and instead of her being angry at him Fleur was upset and her veela temper had gotten Ron thrown out, with her following him loyally. She had kissed him for hours in Bill and Fleur's garden that night, whispering that she was sorry too and that she would forever love him because writing on a sofa was the most beautiful and romantic thing ever done for her.

Now Draco Malfoy was sitting on the word 'sorry' with a dark green suit and a black tie, frowning. "Wow, is it even possible to mach opposites like purple and yellow without wanting to rip your eyes out?" he asked while watching one of Hermiones favorite paintings that was a mess of circles in purple and yellow.

"It's _art_," Hermione corrected. "It's called Grapes and Sunshine."

Draco yawned. "Interesting. . .I never thought art could look so awful."

She didn't bother to reply. Instead she fell silent, watching him. He twirled a golden-chain around his index finger absentmindedly, the clock at the end of the chain gleamed in the lamp light. His eyes looked stale, his lips looked dry and his chest rose slowly. Although his eyes looked torn his appearance looked new, sharp and odd against the beaten sofa. The straight-backed man intrigued her and caught her interest a little too much, she admitted, and when he met her eyes she knew that he was questioning her silence.

"Less art lessons for now! Charlie has been writing me," Hermione started. "Or, more correctly, his pixie has been harassing me."

"That pixie is badly trained," Draco stated. "I Avada Kedavraed it and fed it to my house cat."

She gaped; she could not determine if it was a cruel joke or fact by Draco's unchangeable face. She might've hated the pixie but who would actually do such a thing? If someone could, she reasoned, it was the Malfoy in front of her.

"Relax. It was a joke," Draco said, who somehow picked up her signals. "I didn't cast an unforgivable on her, I just stunned it. My cat doesn't like dead food."

"Right," was all Hermione could say, now more uncertain about Draco's humor, if he even had such a thing. "Let's begin so both of us will be spared Charlie's letters," said Hermione who grabbed her quill, pad, and a chair to sit in front of Draco. "I guess there are a lot of things that I don't know about this."

Draco smirked, a surprisingly blood rushing and aggravating smirk. "You can't know it all, Granger."

"Oh, but I can," she replied and it was she who had a triumphant smirk across her face now. "All I need to know is that you need me, and everything will unfold after that."

Contently, she watched him shift in his seat. "Guess it will," Draco replied and avoided meeting her eyes. She was not as angry anymore, things looked brighter and in the end it was for Charlie and the dragons.

"So tell me," she said and summoned a pot of tea and cups from the kitchen to her living room with Ron's favorite Wingardium Leviosa. "Tell me everything there is about dragons, Charlie, and the reason you're involved in it."

Draco gave her a look that held more hesitation than truth. "I'll tell you everything there is about dragons and Charlie," he said and poured a cup tea in one cup that said 'world's best daughter'.

"And your involvement in this?" she asked, but expected no real answer from the aristocrat with the bad Christmas gift in a firm grip. He held the cup with both hands, covering everything with his slim fingers besides the word 'best'.

"Everything will unfold after that," Draco quoted, his lips twitching to hide a potential smile.

"Fair enough," she said and poured up a cup of boiling hot tea in her own cup. She took a sip, put the cup down and started to listen to Draco who told her about his visit to Romania, his meeting with Charlie, Charlie's camp, Damoceles' research and his promise to Charlie, when Charlie had offered him a bed at during his stay. He told her that he admired the dragon he wants in the country and that he needs Damoceles to research it.

After that story she tried to take notes that were useful while Draco went into a lively conversation about the regulation of animals in England. He had been studying the matter, she realized when he talked about The Dragon Regulations of 1602, but she wondered why. It was too big of a favor to try to import a dragon to England just because Charlie gave him a place to stay and one dragon fascinated him, she thought, and his knowledge was too grand for _just_ that. When he stopped to glance at her she gave him a weak smile.

"Go on," she said, and encouraged him to keep talking. The more he spoke, the more she would know about his lies and the truths that hid behind the lies.

He looked at her hesitating once again but continued with his story that led to more questions about his involvement in this matter. It was with carefulness that Draco continued telling her about dragons and Charlie until a late hour with his third refill of neglected tea still in his firm, colorless grip.

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_Pssssss! Leave a little review if you liked it._


	5. A Snakes Fear

**SWEDISHA/N:** Here comes quantity before quality, meaning **this is not BETA**'d**.  
**I didn't want the waiting time to be too long for you guys.** Me on the other hand **loves me some **Darkness Approaches **input, but on this one you'll have to survive my foreigner spelling and grammar. . .

**For you, Enjoy!**

**UPDATE: Darkness Approaches **did it again! BETA'd. For you.  
Thank you.

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Chapter five:  
**A Snake's Fear**

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**[Day 11]**  
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Draco Malfoy woke up with a weak smile on his lips sometime past noon. He had fooled Granger yesterday and she had agreed to take his case. He had told her no lies but the alleged truths were not that good either. Most vividly he remembers leaving her home at four after sharing stiff pleasantries about Charlie. She made it very clear that it was for Charlie's sake that she would look into the case and find a way to get the dragon into England. He believed her at first, that Charlie meant a lot to her, but judging by her lingering at the door told him differently. It might've been in his head, that Granger lingered by the door longer than she should've, but he could not care less. He was pretty sure that he was luring Granger into his trap.

Feeling like a winner he stepped into the shower with his bare feet shivering at the touch of the cold tile. His limbs were constantly shifting between cold and hot, mostly cold, so he stood under the shower where the warm water was making him feel alright. The once, icy touch of his own hands when he scrubbed his torso was slowly turning into a warm, pleasant touch.

After finishing and getting dressed in a suit, black with small gray stripes today, he enjoyed a calm breakfast at five in the afternoon while he read the Evening Prophet. Nothing interesting caught his eye so he used it as fuel to the sparkling fire in the saloon where he was sitting. As if on cue, when the fire was fed by horrible written news an even more horrible sight appeared in the flames. A dark man, also in his twenties, appeared with dreads framing his dark brown face.

"You are really ugly, Blaise, I mean really," Draco greeted the owner of the face.

"Hey, Draco, you need a tan," Blaise retorted. "And a Crucio really bad."

"And you a haircut," Draco ended.

"Less flattery, Draco, more business. We should get going," Blaise said and grinned with a misshaped head, enjoying the way that they talked since childhood. "There's the snakes' party tonight. It starts in an hour at Daphne's."

The snakes' party was more of a gathering of connections. After the war it was very important for them to keep their foot in business and regain honor to their name. The way of getting forward and getting their way was through their connections. It was the key and the snakes strengthened and created connections during the dinner at the snakes' party. Hooking up and fooling around was what happened after dessert, Blaise's favorite pastime.

Draco was one of those who needed the snake parties the most but he was also the one who loathed the orgies' house the most. "Really, a snake party, tonight? It's a workday tomorrow," he said to Blaise. "If we actually did the work required instead of partying this much we might've had a chance," he added although he didn't believe it. Connections were everything.

"This is more fun! Besides, I heard Millicent got hot," Blaise added with a laugh after.

"And hell is where all Huffepuffs goes," Draco said, snickering at the thought of good old Millicent being hot.

"Then poor Hufflepuffs if Millicents rack actually grew," Blaise said. "Hell is Slyterin residence. They would never make it there."

Draco felt something in his stomach twitch at the word hell being a Slytherin's residence. "Yeah," he replied.

"So? Are you coming to my house before Daphne's?" Blaise asked and was now twirling one of his dreads lazily.

Draco watched his friend's behavior in the fire. Blaise looked careless, almost dumb in the light of the fire. He did not care that he had a supervision job at the magical borders of England that he needed to manage tomorrow. For him the customs were nothing of importance. _"One forbidden vampire pole here and there doesn't matter when Veelas pack," _Blaise used to say and when he was really drunk he added, _"Especially if Veelas make it worth my while."_ They all laughed at Blaise's sly comments during the parties but today the thought of that didn't make Draco smile, at all. He envied Blaise who had his whole life ahead of him as the regular coughs build up in his throat.

"I'll go straight to Daphne's," Draco replied coolly, a tone that was nothing new in the ears of a Slytherin. His only thought was that he had to take his potion as soon as possible, without Blaise knowing.

"Very well," Blaise returned shortly, same cool tone but with a darker, more dominant, voice. "I'll see you soon, Draco," he ended and the face of Blaise left the flames.

Draco called 'Accio' and waited for the vial of purple potion to come to him. When the small vial finally came hovering from the kitchen across the mansion Draco looked at it, drank it in one take and felt healing throughout his body. His hands turned warm once again and the potion might not save him but for today it would help.

Lazily he let his eyes rest at the fireplace to pass his time. Nothing interested him much but he found the fire soothing. The red, orange and bright yellow lights that danced and sparked.

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Dinner at Daphne's was a traditional evening. The people around the table were Slytherins of his former year and a year above with the exception of Daphne's guest Astoria who sat to his left. The youngest member of the snakes was Theodore Nott who wasn't many months younger than himself and the oldest one was Marty Sneetch, the head of the Sports committee. They were all discussing the latest news about Azkaban, a rather depressing conversation subject. Draco was listening to Crabbe's monologue about the conditions at Azkaban, being a guard of Azkaban had not only made him more emotionless than before but straight up scarier than when he used to be Draco's bodyguard. The dinner was not a total waste though, the food was really good and meeting all of them again felt pleasant.

The highlight was Pansy eying him from across the table with that hazy look of nostalgia while she nodded slowly at whatever it was that that Ignotus Bane was whispering in her ear. Judging by her disliking look it didn't involve hooking up but probably something about the Prophet's future, where they both were journalists. When dessert finally was served he ate the pie in silence, nodding when it was appropriate to do so. The company were now enjoying a Golden Trio bashing, which he most of the times dominated, but tonight Astoria took the lead and dominated the conversation, gladly.

"So, I come into her office right, and I see her cry while holding a picture of the ginger!" Astoria exclaimed, with one eye darting towards his way. "And I ask her, why are you crying? Did you know what she said? – I'm not crying – it's just a misplaced hex."

The table broke out in laughter, if it was because the story about Granger crying at work or Astoria being a secretary was allowed to attend the Snake Party Draco didn't know.

"And, and, Weasley always come to the office to leave her these little notes where he writes these things," Astoria continued, now enjoying her small fame and the attention pointed at her. "Like, Hermione – We're celebrating one of the many bastards, you should come or I can't tell you who I'm dating because it's hard on her family and stuff but – I doubt that Weasley is dating an actual human."

"Oh, come on, we all know that Weasley is dating Lavender Brown. That airhead is waltzing around our department with her glossy eyes and he always visits, with flowers and so on," Daphne said and yawned. "I don't know how they can hire Brown to work at the international relations committee."

"I don't know how Law Unit 3 can hire Nott either, sorry Nott, but mysteries seems to be a part of the Ministry these days," Millicent Bulstode replied and a small chuckle followed from Astoria who seemed to agree with Millicent. Nott looked unbothered by Millicent's remark.

"Household names make good relations. I guess Browns father being the former committee head meant something in the hiring but Nott's employment remains a mystery," Blaise said and stared right at Draco who finished his last piece of pie at last.

When Draco stared up from the plate he watched all of the male guests watching him with anticipation. Even Daphne who was the host looked at him with that look.

"Right, you have a good house elf Daphne," Draco started. Daphne gave him a lopsided smile. "But now it's time for the men to go to the cigar room. We'll join you after."

The former Slytherin men all nodded and stood up from the table, leaving the Slytherin women alone. It was in a low murmur that they resumed their conversation in their way towards the cigar room. When they came to the cigar room, fine cigars were shared among the group and expensive whiskey was poured into crystal glasses like water. Draco hesitated at first, not knowing how whiskey mixed with cigars and the potion he drinks in secrecy would end up. He refused his glass at first but the Slytherin men were persistent and judging so with the thought of sipping Romanian Waters with Charlie without nothing more than a small tingle in his stomach he drank.

For every glass he drank with the men in the room the world got more livable and when he was on his fifth glass, third cigar and an inexistent story about how he managed to beat down a Hippogriff last summer he felt unbeatable. When the guys had discussed every woman at the snake party, agreeing that Millicent was far from hot, they were ready to meet the women who were drinking themselves drunk in the saloon. Blaise took the lead, swearing that he would land Daphne tonight while Marty went on and on about Pansy in his pants.

When he arrived to the saloon with the others the women looked fixed and elegant. It didn't take long though, for the women to blur for Draco. The saloon was bright and they were all wearing black, green or some kind of midnight blue that floated together. He felt ill, then again he always felt ill these days, and the shadow of Blaise and Daphne passing him hand in hand made him even more ill. All that ran through his head was 'in sickness and hell'.

He felt like hell.

When the lights dimmed down, meaning that even Ignotus Bane managed to sneak away on a snogging session there was only him on the saloon sofa left. One woman in front of him was slowly stroking the chairs armrest.

"Hey, gorgeous," the last woman in the room purred and approached him. Draco could not see her clearly but judging by the outline of her that hit had to be either Pansy or Millicent. They were both built in that way that made them resemble men but Pansy had a pretty face with dark eyes that captured his attention the first time.

"Pansy?" he asked, wishing that he didn't mix the potion, the alcohol and the cigars because his head was seconds from exploding and he felt like dying. He was not ready for hell, not yet.

"No. . ." she teased and Draco cursed inwardly. Millicent was now playing with his buttons, unbuttoning one slowly while she added, "You're dreamy, Draco."

He saw this as a sign. Millicent approaching him, purring and teasing like that was like a Ravenclaw failing Charms: extremely unbelievable. This was his chance of escaping hell. "If you're hot, Hufflepuffs will go to hell," Draco mumbled, seeing the logic clearly. "Not me."

He leaned in and gave Millicent a sloppy kiss. He kissed her forcefully and felt the foul taste of her lips crashing against his own. They tasted like cigarettes and whiskey but he didn't want to end up in hell. So he kissed her back, with his head throbbing and the darkness falling around them. Hufflepuffs deserves hell for being so lame, he reasoned, and Slytherins _always_ find their way out. So he closed up and noticed that her hands were soft, not the roughness he always imagined Millicent having during the days he saw her butchering plants in Potions. He even placed his arms around her before he felt his consciousness leave him, pretending that she was the hottest thing that ever proceeded in unbuttoning his shirt.

**.**

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**[Day 12]**

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When he woke up he was in a mess of deep purple. If the texture of the purple hadn't been _almost _as smooth as his own sheets he would've thought that he floated in a sea of his daily potions. He stretched out his hand and touched the fabric that he knew were sheets. He recognized these sheets, the decorations of the wall and the bedposts from the past. He was in Daphne's room but it couldn't be. Blaise had been dragging Daphne up the stairs with him last night, he thought. When he recapped the night in his head he don't remember much at all, only the smell of fine cigars, the feel of a world spinning, the blur and the foul taste of whiskey and Millicent Bulstrode's lips against his own. It dawned to him that he had been kissing _Millicent Bulstrode_ and when he felt something shift next to him in the bed he felt the panic rise. He had to turn around to face last night because last night was now placing her arm around his bare waist and purring 'Good morning' in his ear.

He laid ridged for a while, considering both Oblivate and Avada Kedavra on himself or Millicent before he turned around to face her. When he did turn, the swirl of purple and a throbbing pain made him confused. The body was a slim, not manly as Millicent was and the blond head was not ugly and scary like hers but was rather pretty and held the same questioning blues as Daphne's had.

"You're not Millicent," Draco stated, confused.

"Merlin, no. You know you can score better than that," she purred and placed a feather light kiss on his lips. The familiar taste of what he thought was whiskey and Millicent Bulstore was whiskey and Astoria.

"Astoria. . . What happened – did we?" he demanded but he couldn't manage to finish the sentence when he saw her lifting up a glass of whiskey towards her own mouth. "Are you drinking whiskey right now?"

"You were boring. Who falls asleep when a woman wants to get you undressed?" Astoria asked him and sipped from her glass. "Oh and who are you to judge the whiskey drinking? Your hands are cold, you should take some."

She offered him the glass and he shamefully accepted it. "I'm going to hell," he whispered to himself and left the bed.

"Hell is Slytherin residence anyways," Astoria said, overhearing him. "Are you coming back to bed before I go to work? We have . . . unfinished business."

Draco glared at her before closing the bathroom door behind him. With the tap running and the shower on Draco lowered his morals and his boundaries by getting on his knees and starting to puke. The entire feast from last night and hopefully the taste of mistakes colored the toilet before he flushed and got in the shower where the painfully warm water burned his cold skin. He might as well prepare for hell because he was dying and never acted, he thought, and somewhere in the mix of hot water dripping from his hair fell two, three of his even hotter tears.

**.**

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**...**

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	6. The Sleepless

**SWEDISHA/N:** There are no excuses; then again, there aren't any choices either. I have not abandoned my story, nor will I, but I can't abandon life either… Like my main characters I wonder sleepless, for reasons I rarely care about.

_Thank you! _**Darkness Approaches** for your editing of this messy text of mine (double negative is tricky!) and for you reading this, the chapter below, enjoy!

Chapter 6:  
**The Sleepless**

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**[Day 15]**

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The familiarity in the National Library of Wizards and Witches made Hermione feel at home. She remembers her many days and nights of intense studying and researching with a small smile on her lips. The National Library of Wizards and Witches had never let her down in the search of the truth, the law, or the mythical.

Until this day.

It was the fifty-fourth book she skimmed through in these past three days in vain. The failure of her research had made her sleep poorly, think disjointedly and made her more and more irritated with her profession. She was hoping to find cases that were built around the same theme that the Malfoy's case was; a dragon, in England, without any special reasons besides the dragon itself. That there weren't many cases matching that description didn't bother her but that the law clearly said that dragons were under the protection of neither the United Species Regulation which allows animals be examined for the greater good of Wizards or its species, nor the Magical Animals paragraph that allows sick animals in nearby lands to travel into England made her angry.

That dragons were class Black illegal, the punishments for both transporting and smuggling were reasonable, but the twelve year sentence in Azkaban for having any contact with smugglers was outrageous. The height of her anger was when she read Saris Hoover's 'the dragon and human laws' in the 1961's version of the law book saying, _"One human is always above a thousand dragons. Dragons are not entitled to rights and are therefore not protected under the law. Vir supremus draco, draco supremus lex." _

Before this day dragons in England were not her top priority, to be honest she preferred her dragons in the wild, but the more she looked at the laws, the more outraged she became at the injustice that was served.

In the middle of her anger she missed that the candles were being blown out by the librarian. It didn't take long before she sat in absolute darkness and heard the hoarse voice of the librarian telling her to get out from her hiding spot in the section of Law and get back to her wizard as normal witches in her age did.

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**[Day 16]**

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Hermione was finishing the last line in a letter to the French wizard embassy when Draco knocked at the door and entered the room. She dreaded the meeting with her former classmate but when he stepped into the room, looking more torn than ever she didn't feel sympathy for him. Astoria had not been late on telling her about Draco's wild night habits and how Draco always got the prettiest girls while drinking his head off. She could not explain why it was that she had snapped at her secretary, telling Astoria that she broke the work ethics of the office by telling his lawyer about the party and lady life of her client with glossy eyes.

By telling Astoria that she was his lawyer she broke the ethics of silence, and Astoria asked one simple question – are you still his lawyer? Having Astoria look puzzled when she explained that she was not fully his lawyer, but only kind of, was not a good idea either so she came clean. She told Astoria that Draco was her client but that Astoria's job was to keep quiet. It was now, however, when Draco double checked that he closed the door behind him that it hit her how bad of an idea telling Astoria was.

"Hello," Draco said coldly when he finally got seated.

She signed the letter extra carefully, stalling on purpose, before looking up and replying, "Hello."

"How has the case gone?" Draco asked, and while asking he squirmed in his seat uncomfortably. He looked like he had been awake for many nights without eating or drinking any water. The life in him seemed to slip.

"It's going bad, but how are you?" she asked instead of telling him about the lack of success. Failure was something she was most ashamed of and this case has proven to be nothing but.

"I'm fine," he retorted, not minding to answer the question about his wellbeing. "What do you mean bad?"

She looked at him with an apologizing look. "Listen," she started but before she could explain he interrupted her with a loud bang on her desk.

"You're going to tell me that there is no hope, are you?" Draco hissed. His tone was crazy and it frightened her. When he leaned over her desk with his tie dangling down, the tip almost dipping in her ink she looked up to meet his eyes. He was dangerously close now; the dark circles under his eyes looking darker in the light of the hovering candles and his eyes were darting between her eyes and her mouth. She could smell his breath, a stingy, strong smell that she could not recognize and it smelled stronger when he hissed, "You're the lawyer, get it done."

She bit her upper lip. "Now listen, I don't tolerate having you threaten me like this," she started but she didn't know if _threaten_ was the right word, but nevertheless having Draco leaning over the table with the look of a mad man felt threatening enough.

Draco eyelids were fluttering now; his lashes were long, his cheekbones highlighted and his chin pointed out. "Just tell me what I've paid you for so far," he hissed back.

She felt annoyed now. If he knew how many books she had to read before admitting defeat, how many work hours she shoved over at Nott to solve the mystery of the dragons, he would not be saying that. He would applaud her and give her a raise – not that she wanted one, it was just a possible outcome in her head.

She was now lowering her voice into her dangerous tone, the tone that she knew frightened Harry into total obedience. "I've looked, the dragons – they have no rights, Malfoy. There's even a law that says that man is above dragons. You should look it up before taking cases like these to me. If you have nothing of intelligence to add to this conversation I suggest that you withdraw yourself from my desk and head towards the exit."

Draco glared and withdrew his whole body from her, now standing up, and looked down on her, still with that air of effortless spuriousness. "What about property then?" he asked her with a chilly tone, his eyes settling for her eyes.

"What about property?" she asked him back.

"Let's say there's a matter of ownership attached to it," Draco said and she saw something light up in his eyes. "If man is above the dragon, can't man own the dragon?"

She was impressed; to switch from irrational behavior to logical thinking in a split second was an art. She even managed to calm down before she replied. "Logically, yes. But there's a newly enforced law that says animals cannot be owned, only taken care of. Owners are now listed as care takers."

"What?" Draco burst out, suddenly going mad again. "Who makes up those kinds of stupid laws?"

"Excuse me," Hermione said and stood up to try to even the height difference between them. She crossed her arms and said, "I think it's a perfectly fine law that respects both animals and caretakers."

"Oh," Draco said and looked like he had an epiphany. "Of course it was you who wrote that law," he added with an angry voice. "Why did you even bother?"

"What's that suppose to mean, Malfoy?" she retorted, angrily.

"What's the difference between an owner and a _caretaker? _Do you think the animals know? Do they even know what the difference is between being a hippogriff with an owner as opposed to somebody who cares? They're still in a leash, ready to be flown by arrogant humans," Draco burst out, followed by a hollow laughter that scared her more than the rising tone of his voice. He had shifted from a dry, cold voice to a forceful, mad tone and he looked like he was about to lose his self-control any second now.

"Of course they do! A caretaker has more rights than an owner. They can be taken care of when they are hurting, loved when they need it, and caretakers are like parents – an owner is only a juridical term used in the past," Hermione hissed back, now looking as madly at Draco as Draco did at her.

Draco and Hermione participated in a staring match, both too angry and frustrated with the other to give up. It took almost two minutes before Draco broke into another echoing laughter, white beautiful teeth flashing while making a false sound of joy. "Of course," he mumbled. "You're a genius."

"What?" was all she could summon after that turn of events.

Draco however looked like he was about to hug her. "Owners are now caretakers. Caretakers are like parents, of course, it all makes sense now."

"What makes sense?" she asked but Draco took a step around the desk and pulled her towards him, now actually hugging her while laughing like mad. She felt his whole body weight press against her in an awkward hug that made her reply with a carefully placed pat on his back.

His laughter echoed in her ear. "I'll send you the answers tomorrow," he said and his laugh went higher. "There's always a way," he chanted and lifted Hermione an inch above ground before letting her go, his eyes still darting. Without saying goodbye he turned around and headed towards the door.

"Hey, Malfoy, you should get some sleep," she said. "You're not acting like yourself."

"You think I'm more likeable, don't you?" he asked and she could hear him smirking despite only seeing his back.

"No," she said truthfully, although she didn't mind the awkward hug when she thought about it. "I think you are acting like a madman."

"Fair enough, but," Draco said and he turned his head towards her with a small smile on his lips that made her emotions confused, "I'll have plenty of time to sleep if I die."

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**[Day 17]**

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When she woke up that morning it was because a blue pixie, a grey forest owl and an eagle were fighting in her kitchen. Because she had been falling in and out of sleep during most parts of the nights and had many odd dreams she assumed that this too was a dream when she stood there and tried to take in the scene. She had trouble finding peace when she went to bed last night; the events at the office with Draco's mood swings, hugs and hollow laughter had been keeping her up. Her dreams however had been worse, they all involved Draco and they all included him leaning over a desk or holding hard onto her.

When she finally realized that the scene in front of her was not a dream because Draco was not involved in it she blinked, twice. The blue pixie was pinned down at her kitchen table by the eagle's sharp claws and the grey forest owl lay wounded on the kitchen table. Hermione squealed at the eagle, shooing it away with a frying pan frantically. The eagle flew high up and settled for the top cabinet where it could see the view of Hermione nurturing the grey owl and the blue pixie back to health.

"What kind of crazy animal are you," Hermione shouted without thinking. "Stay up there, beast!" As a reply the forest owl started to scratch its claws against the kitchen cabinet.

When the pixie, which was tougher than it appeared, was back into health she carefully removed the letter attached to its leg and read it while dabbing some Dittany on the grey owl.

_Hermione_

_Draco requested that I send some papers about the dragon camp to him for you to have. I know that it seems that I trust him fully, but keep in mind that he is a Malfoy. I can't tell you more; I just wanted you to know that there is more to his story. I sent him the papers for easier transport, the Romanian pixie is weak. _

Somehow she doubted that, seeing the pixie hiss viciously towards where the eagle sat.  
_  
Look if the seal is broken. Hopefully you'll receive them anytime soon and it will result in progress for your cause. _

_Charlie_

She watched the grey owl that lay wounded on her knee. The eagle had wounded her client's owl severely, she thought, and it made her even angrier. When freeing the gray owl from the heavy roll tied to its leg she thought about a good explanation of why there were three messengers fighting in her kitchen. Her plan was to blame it on the pixie.

When she unwrapped the paper around the scroll she thought held the answer to the case, she saw nothing else than the _Daily Prophet's_ fat weekend issue. It dawned on her that thegrey owl was the _Daily Prophet's_ and that meant . . .

"Oh, come on!" she burst out, now looking angrily at the eagle. "Come down!" she yelled in vain. The eagle stood still on the cabinet, waiting for some kind of apology, she guessed. "I'm sorry?" she tried but that too, was in vain.

Of course the arrogant eagle on the cabinet was Draco Malfoy's and as she tried all the summoning charms she knew, owl snacks she had, and an ordinary broomstick to get the eagle down without result she resented that madman with such an intensity that she felt awake and ready to fight, or at least awake enough to brawl against him.

.  
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**…**

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	7. Malfoy Men

**SwedishA/N**: This one is for you Crossing Lines, Laws and Love fans – those of you who know that Draco doesn't own Owls but Eagles… Oh, and I finished NaNo as a winner (if someone cares)! So, because of the long wait, I will just publish this without having it BETA:d. Less heartfelt author notes, more reading.

Go on!

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Chapter 7:  
**Malfoy Men**

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**[Day 17]**

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For being a highly paid and successful lawyer Hermione Granger lived far from grand, Draco thought. When he first stepped into her living room a week ago he didn't give the décor much thought, he was only concerned with what brought him there. He remembers himself barely glancing around and saying something rude as she expected. Right now, however, his only concern was about their employee and employer relationship. She had wrote him a short letter saying, _you need to come here as soon as you can – it's all your fault_, and he had tried to be early but the day's activities had been many so at eleven p.m. he had knocked on her door. She was not late to answer and she showed him her living room with a casual wave of her hand, an too much of an introduction compared to the items in the room. In the middle was a horrible looking sofa, a weak table and a flickering picture box that the muggles entertained themselves with. Against the wall stood a huge, black bookshelf stuffed with every title of books that had once made it into a bookshop– as expected – and lastly a few solemn looking paintings of landscapes and one painting of a woman in a black cloak with a small, almost mischievous, smile.

"Is that your mother?" he asked, wondering where his curiosity about Grangers private life came from. He looked at the woman in the painting; she was not painted like his family members were in the moving paintings over at the manor but perhaps the woman in the picture was suppose to look like that.

Hermione smiled. "No, it's actually the Mona Lisa – well, not the original one but a copy."

"Who has the original?" he asked, one eyebrow raised in dislike towards the copy. "I know people."

Hermione laughed, more at him than with him because he was far from laughing. "The French has it," she said. "It's one of the most known paintings of the world," she added and turned around, heading towards her kitchen.

"I never heard of this Mona girl before," he muttered and followed her into the kitchen.

When he entered the kitchen more decorative disappointments hit him. The kitchen seemed to go in a mess of yellow toned dishes, curtains and feathers.

Like Hermione heard his thoughts she said, "I didn't dare to go into the kitchen to clean because of the constant fights between Charlie's Pixie and your _eagle_." It was with a disliking look that she pointed towards one of the cabin stops. "I couldn't get it down, it doesn't listen."

He recognized his beautiful eagle easily; its beak, its sharp eyes and its pride. "It's the most trained eagle there is, Granger," he said dryly. "It does whatever you say."

"Really?" Hermione replied, arms crossed in disbelief. "Because I spent my morning and afternoon, trying to summon that eagle."

"You must've ordered Beast to stay up there, that's the only way," Draco drawled. "Come down, Beast."

Like on queue the magnificent bird flew down and sat on his stretched out arm. The eagle dropped the heavy post on the floor and flapped its enormous wings, pleased. He rewarded his bird with one of the cheap owl-candies on Hermione's kitchen table, although he considered it to be an insult more than a reward.

Hermione gaped when she realized how Draco had summoned his owl. "Who names their eagle _Beast_?"

"A very intelligent man who wants to know who insulted his eagle," Draco said and smirked. "The flying eagle I mean, not my –"

"I don't care for what you call beasty but I'm sorry, for insulting the bird. Well, for the other thing too… I'm sure," Hermione interrupted hastily and reached for the letter on the floor. "But to my defense it's a really annoying bird. It fought The Daily Prophet owl and Charlie's Pixie."

He was amused. "The Beast never liked The Daily Prophets owl, it too often brings garbage to our house and he hates Charlie's Pixie because it feeds on Beasts breakfast, and baby eagles have a habit of being . . . _lively_," he explained. "Well the other thing too."

When Hermione only glared at him he asked, "Aren't you going to open that?" and looked interested in the package that he sent Hermione earlier that day.

"Yeah, finally. My curiosity has been killing me," Hermione admitted. He watched Hermione stroke one finger across the big, red seal on the letter before she tore up open and got seated on one of the chairs at the kitchen table. He watched her eyes dart in rapid speed across the first parchment that seemed handwritten from his angle. When she was done with the first she let it rest on the table and started to read the other parchments that came with the post, them too in rapid speed.

"Fly home, Beast," Draco ordered his bird, who rubbed his beak against his cheek before flying out the open window.

He shut the window behind him, shivering by the feel of wind that hit him and got seated in front of Hermione who seemed to take no notice of his existence. He saw that she had already managed to read through four pages of fine text. She didn't look extraordinary to the eye, he noted, she was simple looking with ordinary brown eyes but those eyes looked like a machine working on automatic and that alone was extraordinary.

He watched her turn page after page while mumbling sentences like, "It might be possible"and, "special reasons,". At one spot she even looked as she was smiling while reading, it was an odd thing he thought, smiling while reading. Lastly she had this annoying habit of wrinkling her nose almost unnoticeable after every page she turned, he noticed this when she reached the last page.

"Oh," Hermione said when she looked up from her papers and saw him stare right at her, still observing her carefully. "I forgot all about you."

"That's not a nice thing to say," he said with a pretend hurt in his voice.

"Neither is naming a pet Beast, but you did it," Hermione said, still hanging on to the past. "Moving on, these are papers about the camp. It's about the size, the number of dragons and so on. Basically these papers are filled with a lot of unnecessary statistics for this case. What you might know though is that your family is legal owners of the camp; it would have helped a lot if you had told me this earlier, Malfoy. Your grandfather wrote this when he agreed to fund the camp." She handed him a page.

… … …

A CONTRACT CONCERNING FUNDING: Written by Abrax Malfoy

I, Abrax Malfoy, entitle Ike Tatcher and his followers to run THE ROMANIAN DRAGON CAMP with my funding.  
FUNDING AMOUNT: 100237 galleons, 17 sickels and 1 Knot.  
In return THE ROMANIAN DRAGON CAMP entitles Abrax Malfoy and his current inheritor one dragon per man. Regardless to the dragons importance, race or/and health the dragon have to be given the current inheritor, regardless to the nature of the inheritors cause.  
The finding amount will be paid every 50th year until the contract is broken by law or clans.

_Ike Tatcher_  
THE ROMANIAN DRAGON CAMP

_Abrax Malfoy_  
FUNDER

… … …

Draco looked at Hermione who were smiling. "What does this mean?"

"Are you serious? It means as the inheritor of the camp, you're given that dragon legally. That makes you its caretaker and that's a far better start than before," Hermione said accusingly. "And I heard you were the second best student in our class somewhere."

"Well, you heard wrong. It was the Rawenclaw Patil, and then Nott," he corrected. "Besides, this seems too good to be true, written by a Malfoy. But again there's the payment . . . the knot. . . No, there has to be something that jeopardizes everything."

"The payment? So far so good," Hermione said shrugging. "The only thing, really, is that now when you are listed as the caretaker of optional dragon you have to convince the English authorities that you need the dragon in England for the good of the dragon."

"Right," he said and thought about Jean. He was basically fighting for her death with a lawyer who was oblivious of the intentions of his. "There is one problem left thought," he added when he skimmed through the contract. "I'm not the inheritor, yet."

"Who is the – ?" she started but finished midsentence when she seemed to realize that he was in fact the son of the living Lucius Malfoy. Her lips were now struggling with saying something but they ended up being slightly parted and shaking. He watched her draw up her hand towards her mouth to cover a small gasp. She looked like she didn't dare to meet his eyes but when she did he saw her seeing all the inherited Malfoy features. Never before had he felt this conscious about his look, and hating it. Finding out what could make Granger shut up was not as much fun as Draco expected it to be. Truth was he disliked the whole situation.

"I better go," he said when Hermione started to look paler than he did. "But I will need my lawyer to assist me tomorrow. Meet me at three at the Pegasus Lake. Do you know where that is?"

She barely nodded.

"Okay. I'll find my way out by myself," he assured her before he stood up to leave.

Again, she barely nodded.

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**[Day 18]**

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He was sitting on a small bench, facing the Pegasus Lake when Hermione Apparated out of thin air. Honestly he never expected her to show up from the yesterday's events but when she finally did, seventeen minutes late, he thanked whatever sorcerer or sorceress that had helped him.

"You came," he said, wishing that he didn't sound as excited and relieved as he felt.

"You waited," she said shortly. He watched her tighten her hairdo, wondering why she bothered when there was hair constantly breaking free. He even considered offering her to loan his hair products, knowing that the tiniest straw of hair never came out of place when he used the products. Instead of suggesting that he listened to her say, "I'm your lawyer, Malfoy, and this is only affairs. I never let my personal problems get in between. We both know that is for the weak workers."

Draco was impressed by this new, tougher lawyer. "Reasonable," he said but secretly he wondered how this would go. She might've pretended like it didn't matter but to him, yesterday seemed to have shattered every fiber of trust he had built up and her coming back, determine to assist, might've saved some of that.

What he was going to ask her though could ruin everything, for both of them, again.

"So why did we meet up here at this lake?" Hermione asked.

Draco hesitated. "I need you as a juridical witness. Come."

He saw the summerhouse that he grew up in at the top of the hill in front of them, protected with all kind of spells. As they started to walk up towards it, Hermione still a bit resistant, he remembered playing catch with Blaise, Pansy, Gregory and Vincent around the white summer house and the lake. It was with a small smile that he remembered Vincent and how cruel he had been towards Blaise and Pansy when they were small. Neither of them could swim at that time but Vincent had thrown them in cold-bloodily nonetheless. Draco remembered him getting a toy for that from Mr. Crabbe and Gregory got a scolding. Gregory had joined in, of course, but not as viciously. Those were the good times according to Draco, carelessly running around and ordering the house elf's around.

When they reached the top of the hill he stood in front of the entrance door, seeing two people moving on the third floor of the white painted house. They seemed to be dancing or fighting, these days Draco did not know so he kept on watching the silhouette of the slim woman and the tall man. Considering the time, the purpose and the meaning of his visit carefully.

"What are you watching?" Hermione asked, curiously while she stared at a spot two windows from them.

Draco let out a dry cough and then faced her. "You mean you don't see them?"

"See whom?" Hermione asked and judging by her tone she sounded irritated. "Listen, Malfoy. If standing on top of a hill and staring at the sky was what you brought me here to do I'll have to say that it isn't what I am paid to do."

Draco sneered. "It's a house, Granger. A beautiful, white painted house from the mid 1900's designed by the French-Italian designer called Beux. Surely you must've heard of him, _everybody_ has. It has golden details, the door however is blue, and its location is on this hill. I guess I'm one of the secret keepers of this house and now I'm telling you where it is."

Hermione's lips formed an 'O'. She must've thought of the place she hid in with the Order during the war, he thought, but somehow she didn't seem to see what he was seeing. He watched her squint her eyes towards the stair handle in front of her.

"I don't see all of it, this is clever," she murmured.

Draco gaped. "Are you serious, its right in front of you, you're staring at a handle. I told you."

"Tell me why the door is blue instead of throwing insults around, Malfoy." Hermione gave him a most serious stare. "You tell me it's all white and gold but tell me why the door is a misfit."

Of all the questions she could have asked him she asked the one question he didn't want to answer. "I won't tell you that."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "This is an Attachment charm mixed with the regular Security charms. The Fidelus will allow me to enter but I don't know where. Only the persons who are emotionally attached to anything attached to this building will see it. It's very clever, the only one who can break in are those with some kind of attachment to the location or its habitants. Tell me about the door, and if I see it I'll know why you brought me here. If I don't I'm done with this countryside hike. I have things to do at the office, Malfoy, so we better test my theory now."

Draco glared at Hermione, who overused his surname today, and watched her refuse to withdraw her demand. He hesitated before he said, "It was a very long time ago. I barely remember –."

"I don't even know why you bother with this," Hermione interrupted, venomously. "You're wasting your time and you are wasting mine."

"No, hear me out. I was not a day older than seven when that door was bought, we were hiding from the rest of the wizard community at that time," Draco snapped, the word 'time' stressing him out. He didn't want to tell her any of this, he hated the memory but her annoying face and those stupid charms were forcing him to relive that memory. "Listen, I know you're one of the good guys but you don't know anything about being _pureblood_. They were those – er, otherborn – who hated us like we hated them. Those who did worse things than the bad guys because they pretended to be good while hurting. If there's one thing you should know about the bad guys is that they never lie about being good. We are born bad, raised bad and we are expected to behave badly."

Hermione looked at Draco, puzzled, because with every word his voice seemed to go weaker and with every word Draco said she looked like she saw the same dark blue door that he looked at appear in the mix of grass green and sky blue.

"So some acquaintance to us told those that hated us about where we were hiding so they came. And then they took _him_ and they said 'where's your son and grandson?' and he had told me that I should hide. He knew where I was and I hid . . . the stairs, under them. The door broke when they dueled, him with some blue flame and they with all kind of hexes. I saw them all. And he flew through the door, and he was old and bitter and I didn't like him much but he got hit for me, I guess. We bought a new door the day after. And –," Draco said and took a pause to reflect on what he was saying to Granger.

The first thing that came into mind was how much he had managed to say 'and', a nervous habit he trained away before Hogwarts, the second thing was that this was outrageous, personal and by far one of his most horrid memories. She was not suppose to know this much so he shortened it out. "I was a kid, okay, I didn't know much about anything I realize now but I got to pick a color for this door because, well, I always got my way, and I decided that we needed something that protected us."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said and squinted towards the door, she seemed to see the entrance taking shape. "Tell me why did you choose blue?"

Draco didn't know why before l he spoke it out loud. "I remember my grandfathers blue flames when they dueled," he said. "I remember being protected by the color blue."

She must have seen the entrance, Draco thought, because she gasped. But he was proven wrong because she had whispered, "I didn't know these things happened," instead of admiring the fragments of house that she saw. He felt her place one hand on his shoulder for a brief second before she withdrew it quickly. He might've fantasized, or almost wished, that she actually cared about his silly child story because in his eyes she looked like she was genuinely sorry. For a second he even felt healed.

"So, you see the entrance now?" Draco said to try to shrug the story and the moment off.

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yeah, it's really beautiful but what are we doing here? I guess you have something in here that can help us."

"Kind of," he said. A pause and then he collected all the Malfoy wit in him. "I need you to follow me in and co-sign the Dragon Camp as my lawyer," he explained as fast as he can so that she would not be able to grasp what it truly meant.

It looked like it took a moment before it dawned to Hermione what Draco was asking of her. "You mean, you mean that he's in there. Your father," she almost stuttered to him. "And you want me to. . . I – I can't . . ."

"I can't what?" Draco asked, clearly the wrong thing to ask by the look of Hermione. She looked like she could not actually believe the logic in having a lawyer representing him during a business proposal. As she said earlier, it's just affairs.

She turned into a dragon in matters of seconds. "I CAN'T BELIVE YOU TRICKED ME HERE!" she shouted and hit him hard across the chest.

"I didn't trick you! I needed my LAWYER!" Draco shouted as a reply, now gritting his teeth between the coughs that came with Hermione's strike.

"HE CRUCIOED ME, DRACO," He heard Hermione shout.

In her anger she must have forget to call him by his last name. He saw the rage in her eyes and her lack of self-control turned her into a storm of anger. He realized that he had tricked her to come here, after yesterday he had dragged here to the house of the man who hurt her and he didn't know why but he felt bad. Really bad.

"Cruico me, CRUCIO ME RIGHT NOW," Draco demanded and without knowing how he had gripped her fists to stop her from hitting him. "Crucio me like he did to you and we will be even."

"I DON'T HATE YOU ENOUGH," Hermione shouted, pronouncing every word hard, and withdrew her burning fists away from him and looked at them like she'd been burning.

She paused, just staring at him. "And it's a pain you don't deserve."

"I deserve it, don't you see –," Draco retorted angrily but broke off his sentence when he realized what it was that he was going to say.

He wanted to tell her everything about him pushing her buttons from the start on purpose, about lying about Jean, about him having a fatal disease and about him scheming about killing a dragon so that he could live. . . He wanted to tell her that she was being a real lawyer, helping out scumbags instead of causing good, and somewhere deep down he had the urge of telling her that she should run away from him as fast as her legs could take her.

"_Nobody_ deserves that kind of pain," Hermione said, tears in her eyes. "I know that I am your lawyer but I'm sorry. I can't go in there with you and if it comes down to that man I can't help you with this case either –," she whispered before she gave him a pair of eyes that burned themselves into his memory.

"I. . ." he started, thinking about saying I'm sorry but his mouth spoke other words. "I have to go in," he said but truth was he had never wanted to flee the summerhouse this much.

Hermione nodded, saying, "maybe you should seek a lawyer who can actually help you," before she left. He watched her heading towards the lake where he only could vision a half-drowning Blaise and a floating Pansy before. That image was now changed by Hermione Granger, drying herself up with her sleeve and turning around, looking defeated at him. "If you don't get this . . . this is the end," she said before Apparating with a crack! right on the spot.

He took a deep breath, collected his thoughts and knocked at the door. A minute later the door opened by his father. Lucius Malfoy was gripping the silver cane hard and he saw his own grays reflecting back at his father's clear, analyzing eyes. He always looked so small in those eyes.

"Hello, son, you arrive without your mother's lilacs I see," Lucius said like it was an everyday visit that Draco did. "The house elves are preparing dinner. Are you joining us?"

"Hello father, and yes – no flowers, I am solemnly coming here to take over some family businesses," Draco said and tried his best to feel more important than he looked.

"Where's you attorney then?" Lucius said, chilly. "There's no deal without anyone who knows how to fool the dealer I usually say."

"_He_ could not assist," Draco said, his lie annoying him. "_He_ will co-sign in _his_ office when the ordeal has been taken care of, father."

"Very well," Lucius said and when Draco stepped in he closed the blue door behind him. "That can be arranged."

Draco, however, didn't feel safe behind the blue for the first time since childhood. Truth be told, he felt everything but safe when he felt his legs bent underneath him. It felt like Pansy's revenge when she finally surfaced and faced Vincent, Gregory and him; a punch that came so hard that before it went black you knew you would meet death. Pansy had been the only one that could've made him loose his breath and make Vincent cry, or even feel but she had nothing on Hermione, he realized, when the only place that hurt now was where her two small fists had hit him and somewhere inside him that he recently discovered existed. She had hit him good with all the force she had in her and as he steadied himself towards the wall instead of crumbling into a ball as he wished to do, his father's intense stare made him feel even weaker.

"You're so alike your grandmother," Lucius said and handed him his cane. "You have a tendency not to fall easily."

"It's a Malfoy trait," Draco said but he was startled that his father spoke about his mother.

"No, Malfoy's try to soften the fall, son. Not avoid it," Lucius said and handed his son his walking cane. "We are all destined to fall down and sacrifice our glory, only to hide in some summerhouse sooner or later." he added with contempt. "Because that, son, that is a Malfoy trait."

Draco stood alone in the hallway unsteadily on his father's cane, trying to inhale the nonexistent air. Once again his legs bent under him and once again he was determined to keep standing up and stay like that.

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	8. Hinders and Brawls

**A/N:** _A recap._ Draco is sick, his illness gives him following symptoms: cough, loss of magic, dizziness, as it progresses it gets worse until he gets unstable, looses touch of reality, time, space –, darkness, followed by death. Hermione is Dracos lawyer; a passionated animal and rights activist. She's very interested in the _Dragon_ matter of the _Draco and Dragons case_. Not the Draco part she says.

Enjoy.

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Chapter eight:  
**Hinders and Brawls**

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**[Day 19]**

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Hermione had been filing her last case for the day. Astoria had been kind enough to help her, while going on and on about an extraordinary kisser she had met at some party a while a week ago. She had been appreciative to Astoria for distracting her but when she told Hermione about her passionate night with the same kisser, followed by a lazy morning in the shower Hermione might've lost it.

"I get it, _you're_ dating – _I'm_ not," Hermione snapped.

Astoria looked confused. "I thought you wanted me to distract you. You had that look you get when Wease. . ._Weasley_ send you those notes." She paused, half smirking, half upset. "I should head back to the hallway, anyways."

"No," Hermione said and sighed. She really needed help filing the papers from this week and Astoria, how unreliable she could be at times, did always know how to keep a crowd entertained. Even if it was with tales of lies and extravagant things that she would never come close to. "I'm sorry, Astoria. It's just that . . . there's this case I can't solve. It annoys me."

"Which one? The Prime ministers case, the Yaxley vs. Wizarding society case or the Floating Muggle incident from last month?" Astoria asked and Hermione thought she spotted sincere concern. She wanted to tell Astoria about the real case but remembered her secrecy.

"No, it's a theoretical one," Hermione lied. "From my last job, you know."

"Right, well maybe you should go to the library again, tomorrow, you know, call in sick?" Astoria suggested and winked. "I'll cover for you."

"Would you do that for me?" Hermione asked, flabbergasted.

"Why not?" Astoria said but her eyes were gleaming mischievously. "If it means I'm able to call in sick the following day without my boss missing me."

_Slytherins_ Hermione thought but her mouth formed only two words, "Thank you."

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**[Day 20]**

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The same feeling she had during her second year while reading about the secret animal in the Chamber of Secrets was what she felt during the whole library visit. She remembered, quite vividly, how she had jumped up from her chair in triumph when she had found out that it was a Basilisk that terrorized the halls of Hogwarts. Harry would have his justice served and his question answered, she remembered herself thinking when she clutched the paper where the word 'pipes' was written. Ron will be impressed, she remembered, and she would love that. The three of them solving this crime was what she thought of before looking around the corner with the mirror to keep her safe. When she then saw the yellow, big eyes shine deathly back at her she remembers feeling of stone and failure. The moment – the triumphing moment in the library – is the only moment she chooses to remember though.

Today, however, when she found a small paragraph in the "Magical Creatures Agreement" written for dragons only a year after the Second Wars end she didn't jump in triumph. The so called "The Three Dragon Paragraps" were simple. Hermione preferred to summarize them in one sentence, the dragons are entitled nothing. She waited eagerly for the breakthrough in her case while reading but nothing came up and when the lights went off and it was time for her to head home she sighed.

As she walked towards a hidden spot where she could Apparate safely she formulated the outcome of the case in her head. The same stone and failure feeling was the only clear thing she could see and feel. She didn't know why she bothered anyways; it was not a case of hers any longer, she had made that clear, and it wasunnecessary to spend any more minutes in books that held no answers.

When she arrived to the broken phone booth with the tainted glass she Apparated to her outside door. Knocking vividly and with an anger written face on her poor door was no one else Draco Malfoy, clasping a paper and bouquet of lilacs.

She didn't know what it was in her that made burst out angrily but never the less she did. "THAT'S MY DOOR!"

Draco spun around. "I am aware of that, Granger, and you should be behind it, answering your door."

She narrowed her eyes. "_You_ should not be knocking in the first place."

"_You_ should not be unavailable at your office during work hours either," Draco pushed. "All your clients don't care for Astoria and a can of whip cream."

"Whip cream?" Hermione asked, now smiling at the sight of the aggravated Draco Malfoy.

"Whip cream, in your office, Astoria, purring 'Antonio'," Draco clarified.

Hermione laughed. "That's the name of one of the sports committee guys, figures. It had to be him that she met at that party last week."

Draco remained silent after that; too silent according to her. It slowly dawned to her that he was here for other reasons than having a lighthearted chat with one of his previous arch enemies - and now his previous lawyer.

"You got me flowers?" Hermione finally asked, slightly flattered by the gesture of apology that Draco was hinting towards with those flowers.

"Er, yes, those too," Draco tried and handed over the bouquet of lilacs. "Here, for you."

The smell of them was intoxicating, the sweet smell of the purple flowers found its way through her nostrils and she felt calm. "I forgive you," she said, as a spare of the moment thing.

"Thanks," Draco said, tone dripping of irony and he merely raised an eyebrow towards her before handing her a paper and a quill. "I have ownership of the Dragon Camp. I need you to sign it."

Hermione signed it ruefully. She knew that there were no way out of this, ownership or not, but she didn't have the heart to crush him. Not yet.

"So," Draco said and carefully put the signed copy in his dark grey cloak. "I assume you're at my service again."

"I'm your lawyer, yes," Hermione corrected.

Draco smirked. "That's what I said. . . So, _lawyer_ Granger, where do we go from here?"

If Hermione was back in her comfortable office chair she would've prepared herself easily before she had to tell the client that there was nothing more the law could do to abide. Considering that she stood in front of her client that happened to be Draco, bringing lilacs, she couldn't think clearly, especially while trying not to feel sad along with his worn out grays. She shifted uncomfortably at the place before she spoke.

"About that," she started. "I've done the final research and there is no possible way, even for a caretaker to import a dragon."

"Then do your research better," Draco said dryly.

"I've done it," Hermione said, tone chilly and eyes challenging. "There's no way to get it here without more specifics than you've given me. Tell me the truth instead, why do a Malfoy want to help out a Weasley?"

"I won't give you more specifics, I do not trust you enough," Draco stated. "Your. . . _unprofessional_ display yesterday showed me that you're. . . unstable"

She knew he tried to provoke her because he wasn't granted his wish but that was a low blow even for a Malfoy. Hermione turned angry but she did everything to control her anger. "I've done the research," she said, now with an unsteady voice that barely was hearable. "A dragon in England will never happen."

"Why?" Draco demanded; his voice going rougher by the day. Something in her said that he was more in fear than in anger when he demanded an answer.

"Why do you go through all this trouble with this dragon, anyways?" Hermione tested instead. She was determined to find out about his true involvement.

"Why do you even bother about that?" Draco hissed and now she saw that he was actually shaking with rage. He raised his fist and she seriously thought she was going to get hit so she gasped. Instead Draco started to pound his own head like in a trance, going on about 'it' being 'stupid' and 'law' being 'waste of time' before he turned around and headed towards the stairs. His dark grey cloak floated behind him dramatically.

Despite him leaving her in an ugly mood she somehow didn't want him to leave."Where are you going?" Hermione yelled after him, her words echoed in the empty hallway.

From somewhere down the stairs she heard Dracos soft footsteps. His tone, however, was fierce. "To buy more lilacs."

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**[Day 25]**

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It was late night when the old Crookshankcame purring around one of Hermione's bed posters. The fat, spoiled cat usually did this to get Hermione to throw her some dried fish but today someone had been knocking hard at the front door. Crookshank scratched one of the bed posters until Hermione woke up, mad-looking and tired.

"I will not feed you anymore," Hermione told her cat. "Now go to sleep!"

The cat, persistent and annoyed by the guest that knocked outside the door didn't care about her owner but continued to ruin the furniture. When Hermione finally stood up to shoo the cat away it gave her the intelligent look that meant 'follow me'.

Hermione grabbed a bathrobe, tied it around her waist and followed Crookshank to the door that was violently knocked. With her wand ready in one hand and one eye placed on the peephole she saw Draco Malfoy on the other end.

"Malfoy," she uttered to her cat that couldn't care less. The owner of the pale face had not contacted her in almost a week. She didn't mind either because it was more peaceful without the drama and action that seemed to appear out of thin air as soon as they started to talk. She didn't like drama or action; that's why she hung out with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley throughout Hogwarts. . .

With a whip of her wand her door opened and she was met by the sight of a beaten man. Draco stood in the entrance with his normally bleach blonde hair soaked in water, fading into a yellowish shade. His suit looked black although something told her it was blue and he looked like a child in too big of clothes despite that they were glued to his body, every line and curve visible. Hanging from his mouth was a cigarette, wet and wrinkly and in his shaking hand he held his wand.

"What happened - ," she started but was quickly interrupted.

"There's no time for small talk," Draco said, clearly all the anger from their previous meeting blown away. He put the worthless cigarette behind his ear and shoved a wrinkled paper in her hand forcefully. She could barely see the writing on the wet letter that held a few smudged out sentences.

_Draco,  
She's getting sicker. You need to hurry.  
There isn't much time to meet Damocles.  
There isn't much time for anything.  
Charlie. _

"What – what's this talk about 'time for anything' and who is she?" Hermione demanded. She was, kind of, happy being able to demand and command Draco Malfoy again after his short absence. "Are you listening?" she asked but Draco did not reply.

Draco was in deep concentration when he made a suitcase levitate from the stairway into her living room. Carefully he tried to make it land on the floor next to the sofa but he didn't finish the everyday charm perfectly and the bag fell hard against the floor. After a couple of well placed rants and curses he passed her with his wet shoes, wet hair and invited himself into her living room.

"It's the dragon," Draco said and started to unpack a few items that looked like a toothbrush, a vial with a purple liquid that she suspected was some kind of hair product, a small can of fire and something that looked like a lens box. "She's going to die."

"Oh," Hermione said and felt genuinely sad. "What can we do?" she asked but in reality all she wanted to ask was why on earth Draco Malfoy was unpacked in her living room.

"We have to get it to England," Draco demanded. "Damoceles, he can't travel. He's the only one who. . . Just, fix this, okay?"

"I told you it was impossible," Hermione retorted. "Sometimes you just have to accept that life has its course. There's nothing living that's eternal."

"It's not impossible! That word does not exist. There are only possibilities and laziness, options and failure. There are only those who are limited," Draco shouted and stood up and faced her with pure rage across his face. The only thing she could think of as he proceeded to yell was that he stood so close that she could smell the cheap muggle cigarettes he had been smoking. "You, you don't get it – do you? He doesn't have to die if you just solve this for him. The doctors insisted, giving him a month, but he could have made it and now she's dying! You have not done your best. You have not tried. You have not," he paused dramatically, the blond hair distracting him. "You have not done your best, not yet."

"He got a month? I thought the dragon was a she," Hermione replied viciously after his speech. Once again Draco was telling her a half truth, she knew, and once again the sharp exhale of Draco Malfoy left a smell of cigarettes lingering and as he stepped closer she could smell some alcoholic beverage.

"I meant her. . . I just. Stop listening to the small things!" Draco burst out, frustrated, and he was now roaring more at himself than at her. "We have to fix this. It's a matter of life. Damn it, Granger."

She watched the small traces of tears in Draco's eyes. It was an odd contrast, she thought that the worn out grays weren't hard and ignorant but sad looking. The fact that he already had a defeated look from wondering in the rain didn't make the image in front of her any better either. She saw that he didn't even care much for covering up that he was going teary as long as the struggle he was in to prevent himself from crying was successful.

"You really care about this dragon, do you?" she asked, now forgetting her original thought about Draco having some kind of scheme that she didn't know about.

"Yes," he replied shortly, crashed down in the sofa and buried his face in his hands.

Without thinking about it she sat close next to him, feeling his wet pants against her bare legs. "I don't know what to do more than knowing the law," she said, glaring. "And you're refusing to tell me what I need to know."

"I can't – I just can't tell you," Draco insisted and she realized that there was something more than evil schemes in his skull.

"Then tell me, what more can I do?" Hermione asked, silently.

Draco looked up at her from his hands for a long time and she could not help feeling that she would do anything to help this man with whatever it was he wanted. The sincere worry that reflected across his face was enough to feel sympathy for the man next to her.

"I've packed, I'm staying the night too," she heard him murmur and nudged towards the bag he levitated unsuccessfully to the sofa earlier. "We leave early in the morning, that's why."

She wanted to shout _'are you out of your mind, I have work tomorrow and by the way you ask before staying at someone's house. Especially someone that you have problems tolerating for more than an hour at the time. Above that you can't command someone to just – go – with you somewhere without even. . .Besides! Do I look like someone who would cross seas and fires for you? Does it look like this is more than law and cliental issues? You are out of your mind, Malfoy.'._

Instead she heard her small, unsteady voice say, "Where are we going?"

"That's a Portkey for tomorrow at six," Draco said, looking relieved, and pointed at the lens box. He got up from the sofa and took his jacket and tie off. Neatly he placed them on one nearby chair before he got seated next to Hermione who was eagerly waiting for the destination. "We're going to Romania," he said when he started to unbutton his wet shirt while sitting next to her. "We have to meet her."

Hermione wanted to move but she felt glued onto the stop. "Right," she said and watched Draco remove his shirt from the corner of her eye while she was staring at a dot on her wall. "We'll I have to owl the office and go to sleep because six a.m. is very early."

Draco was now folding his shirt nicely, his bare chest unsullied from scars and marks compared to Rons. She did, however, see that his arm held a big, hideous scar that was an odd pink against his pearly white arm. "Sounds reasonable," he said and she knew that he felt her eying his scar because he withdrew his whole left arm and hung his shirt over it.

"Goodnight," she said and stood up from the sofa and headed towards her bedroom. "Oh, and there's linen and pillows in the hallway and the kitchen with food is in the kitchen. You'll see if you get bare."

"The fridge with food is in the kitchen, you mean, I'll see it if I get there?" Draco said and eyed her curiously. The before sad looking face turned and looked mischievous at once, clearly enjoying the insecurity of her. Still with her eyes darting from his bare torso to his amused expression she thought of some better comeback.

"That was what I said," she let out hastily but the blush started to creep out. For once she thanked her bushy hair hiding her features and turned her heel to leave the room with the too bare Malfoy in an instance.

"Hey, Granger," Draco called from behind her.

She turned around. "Yeah?"

Draco opened up a dry box of cigarettes and lit one before he said, "thank you."

Instead of telling him that under no circumstances was he allowed to enjoy his filthy habit in her home she said, "its okay. Get some sleep, will you? You're a mess without your sleep."

"Okay," he said and she left him inhaling toxics in solitude.

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* * *

_And I'll try to be good with these updates, its sad forgetting what you just read until next time, don't you agree? _  
_Lumos Maximum_


	9. The Hungarian Bull OR Romanian Water II

A/N: We Might be Halfway now, if not even more. I'm ready to finish this. And the days – they're not enough days …

Chapter nine:  
**The Hungarian Bull/Romanian Water II**

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**[Day 26]**

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Traveling through four different kinds of ports, simply because the threat of evil wizards from Russia that the Aurors set up a week ago was not what Draco had in mind when he and Hermione grabbed the lens box at the crack of dawn. He did not expect sitting in a shabby Auror office in Belgium, being questioned about his involvement with the Russians before they let him go to take the next portkey out of the country. He knew it had everything to do with the name 'Malfoy' that he bore after his first name and sometimes he cursed that.

In Russia, where he needed to collect the traveler's visa to enter Romania that the Belgium ministry refused him, he didn't expect to be openly celebrated. The Russians seemed pleased to have the opportunity to fraternize with him and a Malfoy in Russia got lunch, tea and a long, enjoyable conversation with successful businessmen. Neither did he expect that it was Hermione's turn to be locked up in an interrogation room and drilled with questions about the English Ministry before they were let go out of the country. The Russians were admirable, Draco reasoned, when after two hours he witnessed Hermione leave the little room with a broken spirit and her Belgium travel visa with an invalidation charm all over it.

After a clever disguise charm made by Hermione and some smooth talk from Draco they managed to grab a Portkey at the Auror office that brought them into the largest Portkey center in Europe. Germany's Portkey center was filled with all different kind of Portkeys and the politeness that the Galleon was met with in Germany made Draco remember why it was wonderful being rich. Hermione didn't even bother to make rude or smart comments about 'the power of the galleon' speech Draco held during their hour wait for the Romanian portkey.

When they finally arrived at the Romanian Portkey center with two fire smelling men and a Divination master Hermione seemed to be on the edge of drawing her wand up and yelling curses that would turn everybody into a pile of ash. He, on the other hand, was feeling nauseated by all the Portkey traveling. The feeling of swishing through long distances along with the purple potion that he consumed in a bathroom in Germany was now making him dizzier by the minute.

He quickly hauled a cab, paying the man extra to step on it and let the small streets of Romania pass by while he held his head between his legs, ready to puke any minute. He had ordered the driver to take them to the only inn he knew about, The Hungarian Bull. During the ride, the silence – a welcomed unfamiliarity since Granger sure loved to talk – was the only blissful thing there was. As soon as the car stopped outside the torn place with a violent pull the silence ended. Hermione started to shout, her nerves already on edge, while he crawled out of the car, pale and sweaty.

After levitating out their bags Hermione slammed the door behind her. He listened to the sound of the leaving car and felt her stand over him. He knew that her hands were on her hips when she growled at him harshly. "So the infamous Draco Malfoy, the man with the poise and so on, gets car sick?"

He didn't bother to reply to that; he didn't need more illness. Without another moment of collecting himself he straightened up and opened the door to The Hungarian Inn. As he entered the smell of a sweaty crowd hit him and Hermione, who walked behind him with their bags levitating towards the bar, seemed to smell the same thing. She passed him quickly with the bags and he followed her, recognizing the place from his previous visit slowly. It was still dark, funky smelling and very shabby. The only thing that changed was that it was more crowded than last time, he noted, now when people were pushing and shoving each other by the bar roughly, even for being Romanians. It might've been that Hermione was in fact Hermione or that she was a girl in this male dominated place but the crowd seemed to split when she walked through.

When she arrived at the end of the queue, anger and irritation poisoning her voice, she said only two sentences. "Two single bed rooms. Now."

All the men around her shouted angrily, they were yelling that she was not entitled to take all the rooms left. The barman who was scanning through the booking book hushed them instantly with one finger in the air. "Miss, if you weren't a lady you would sleep on a bar chair as most of these men will tonight." At that the crowd mixed cheers and groans. "There are three rooms left, you see, and one is mine. The other is Feyrevics – the famous dragon handler who's coming tonight." Draco realized why there were a lot of people in the bar then, as dragon handlers this had to be like meeting the Queen of England for English muggles. "And the last room can be yours."

The crowd of men burst out in angry yells and was already fighting her with words like 'females' and 'injustice'.

"Oh, is it because she is a pretty lady," one man with three missing teeth's said. "Maybe she'll _entertain_ you in that room, Mr. Barman. Maybe she'll entertain all of us tonight."

After that a lot of events unfolded at once. The bags that Hermione levitated carelessly in the air while arguing dropped and Draco who were finally arriving to the spot where she stood tried to catch the bags without success. The sound of glass, as in glass vials with much needed potion, hitting floor along with the cheers filled the bar. At the same time Hermione had spun around to face the man with the three missing teeth's who had managed to grab her bum in the chaos. She had, without skipping a beat, straight punched the man flat across the face and he had tumbled towards two other men. Those men started to fight the tumbling man while Draco was trying to collect their bags. The barman looked like this was nothing above the ordinary but sighed when the remaining men were applauding Hermione and when Draco said, 'we'll take the room' and overly paid the barman. The barman simply gave him the room number with a bored look. Draco pushed through the crowd to find Hermione and when he found her, shouting insults in a more appropriate way than the man she fough, he grabbed her by the arm and started to drag her out of the cheering crowd and up for the stairs. He fled with both bags and Hermione's arm in his grip and an angry but cheering mob behind him.

"I hit a man," Hermione said while being dragged up for the last stair. She followed her words with an amused and bewildered laughter.

"Consider it as your Welcome-To-Romania fight," Draco said shortly.

"My what? I've been in Romania before, you know," Hermione said but didn't give his Welcome-To-Romania sentence much thought. "I actually caused a man pain, physically. Wand less."

"That's not a first," Draco heard him say but regretted it instantly. Hermione clearly remembered that he referred to the time that she had punched him in Hogwarts and started to laugh. "I think he'll be the man without four teeth after your hit though," Draco tried but Hermione was now gasping for air from laughing.

"I hit you," Hermione said, now roaring while Draco opened the room door and put down the bags. "And thanks to you I was almost thrown in jail in Russia for being a good guy. Oh, and thanks to you I'm at The Hungarian Bull, only to hit another guy."

"I don't see the fun in that," Draco tried but he wanted to laugh too, the whole day had been an absolute failure and when the wave of anger passed the wave of laughter closed up.

Only that he didn't laugh, he kept it professional.

The only thing he wanted to do now was go get some sleep and rest. When he was heading towards the bed he passed Hermione who grabbed him hard on the arm to stop him from taking it. The question she had in mind seemed to change, instead she said, "why are you so cold?"

Draco paused. He knew that he was getting worse by the day but right now he felt far from cold. "I'm not cold." He insisted. "You're warm."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "No, you're cold."

"I'm going to bed –," Draco said instead, avoiding replying to Hermione's statements. "So if you could let me go."

"I'm not sleeping on _that_," Hermione said and pointed towards a battered sofa inches away from the bed. It was stained, worn out and crooked. On top of all it was a disgusting tone of red and brown that made Draco shiver.

"I'm a gentleman but not an animal," Draco drawled. "I'm not sleeping on that either."

"Well, I am not sharing a bed with _you _either," Hermione exclaimed, not riding the wave of laughter any longer but closing up to anger again.

Draco felt the odd sensation of a real laughter closing up however. "Don't flatter yourself – I would not dream of sharing that bed with you either."

"What do we do then?" Hermione asked and snapped in rapid speed.

"We try a duplicate charm," Draco suggested while fingering his wand.

"Go on then," Hermione said, now with arms crossed. "Most inns have the protective charms over the beds so you'll be forced to rent rooms."

Draco wondered who bothered to study these things. "Then why bother trying to duplicate the bed?" he said but to be honest he had the strange feeling of his magic leaving him, it started yesterday when he tried to levitate his suitcase into Hermiones living room and failed doing it properly. Today when he tried to levitate the suitcases in the bar he failed and now, a duplicate charm would be unsuccessful. He knew that symptoms of his illness was losing his magical powers but that was when he closed up towards the end . . . He just didn't assume, or even counted on, that him getting ill to that point. Instead of failing with his magic, so that Hermione would understand that something was wrong with him, he decided that the right thing to do was to claim the bed before she asked him again.

Hermione gazed at him suspiciously before she did a quick movement with her wand in silence and said, "I was right." A sentence Draco hated with passion.

"Good for you, I'm sleeping here now," he said and threw off his shoes and coat and threw himself on the bed with both legs and arms stretched out.

"Then I'll do something else," Hermione said and turned around to leave the room.

Draco, already close to dozing off by exhaustion said, "Where you going to do that?"

"Well, if I can't sleep here," Hermione said, disliking. "I might as well go and get a drink and meet this Feyrevics guy and learn more about the Romanian culture."

"Avoid the Romanian Water," Draco said while he wondered how Hermione could even think of 'learning' after the day they had. Trying to be considering according to himself he added, "The men will probably try to buy you drinks considering that you're the only female _looking_ in that lot."

Consideration paid off in hearing Hermione say, "I can drink two bottles of Firewhiskey without feeling a thing, Malfoy, so don't tell me what to do or not to," before she shut the door behind her.

"Fine, suit yourself," Draco mumbled, but he felt angry inside for some reason so the sleep he fell into was a bitter, almost painful, sleep.

He had the most terrible sleep in history according to him. Without the potion normalizing his body heat and other symptoms of his illness he felt sick for the first time. He was freezing under the many blankets and shaking uncontrollably when his body tried to heat itself up again. Constantly he fell in and out of sleep during the evening, when he was awake he could feel something rip and tear in his veins and the cold caused him a painful headache. Those moments that he desperately tried to re-enter sleep he was disturbed by the cheers, laughter's and the sound of toasts and shots hitting the wooden tables down at the bar below. He was really upset with Hermione causing all that noise down there, she was the reason he felt this bad anyways so he would not be surprised if she caused all that noise simply because she hated him. It was all her fault that the vials were crushed and with only one remaining vial that he needed for tomorrow he was tempted to end this pain today and suffer tomorrow. On top of that she was not polite enough to stay in the room but drink away with the men in the bar who cheered her on like she was grander than Merlin.

Thinking of the intense feeling of anger he had towards Hermione somewhat warmed him up and he managed to fall asleep once again. This time with boiling, warm rage filling his veins instead of the same genetic illness that chilled his body down to what felt below zero.

He managed to get three hours sleep before he woke up; this time because the door to the room opened after some fumbling. In the entrance, while squinting, he managed to see a slim outline of what seemed to be an attractive woman and a taller man who were having a conversation with more laughter than words. He had the urge of sucker punch them both for opening the wrong room and with that awaking him because he was once again reminded of how cold he was.

"Feyrevic, thank you, it was really interesting," the attractive looking woman said. He watched the skirt-dressed woman wiggle a little on her high heels while she fanned herself with what seemed like a paper menu. Draco realized that it was Hermione who was the owner of the heat-rising body and felt more ill all the sudden.

"Ah, Hermione, you much interesting. You smart, smart. Not many woman dare challenge man. And win," the man, Feyrevic, replied. He watched the tall, dark and according to Draco, very properly and handsome dressed man bend down and place a kiss on Hermione's cheek before walking down the hall. That made Draco even more ill.

Hermione stumbled into the room and right into a chair, that caused her to giggle more, and then she did something Draco regrets wishing to want to see. She was slipping out of her shoes and skirt while whispering 'warm'. She released the tight hairdo and her bushy hair fell onto her shoulders. When she started to unbutton the shirt that ended at her thighs he held his look fixed. The first button revealed a long neck and a chain that hung almost heavily, the second button revealed a small locket of some sort hanging at the end of the chain and the third button revealed a cleavage that Draco had not counted with. He closed his eyes shut; now only listening to her garment dropping through the floor and her stumbling around for her bag in her underwear. She had to have forgotten that he was in fact sleeping in this room because she crashed into another chair and giggled before he heard her stumble towards the bed. When she lifted the covers and did a freefall towards the bed he knew she had forgotten for sure about him. Her legs hit his back and her arm slapped him across the face and she was so close, too close.

"What on earth are you doing, Granger," he demanded but the only thing he could think of was that her bare legs were burning hot and her arm was a hazard to mankind.

"Draco – no, not Draco but Malfoy," Hermione said, startled. "I forgot all about you," she said and stood up clumsily, only to stumble back on top of him at the same position.

The touch of her against his skin felt like being thrown into a fire naked, it was a wonderful but an extremely hurting sensation. Her smooth skin seemed to boil and every garment between them, his shirt and pants and her shorts and t-shirt, was keeping him from burning up. "It burns," he heard himself say.

"I'm really hot," Hermione told him but with her arm on his head and her legs across his back she realized that he was the opposite. "You're freezing! Oh, you're so _cold_."

"It's just you who had too many drinks, the Romanian Water makes you warm," Draco tried and Hermione seemed to buy it. She rolled over Draco and laid on the right side of the bed, her back facing him.

"Yes. Too many free Romanians," Hermione whispered giggling. "It looks like water. Why does it make you so . . ."

"Drunk?" Draco asked.

"N – No," Hermione said, and now she rolled over to face him with her eyes shut and her lips slightly parted. Her words were failing her slowly. "I was going to say happy."

"That's because you're drunk," Draco said, but he was happy and it had nothing to do with Romanian Water. Although he wasn't physically touching her it felt like being next to a heater and he was still cold, but not as cold as before and that was enough. Her presence made him feel warmer.

"I'm not drunk; I'm just not so sober." Hermione insisted, followed by another giggle. "And it's so hot!"

"Right," Draco said. The awkwardness in having Hermione Granger in the same bed as him had seemed to fade away. Instead he felt her getting comfortable with his presence.

Hermione came closer to him and said, "The closer I get to you, the cooler it gets. I wonder why."

Draco stayed ridged on his back, now turning his head to face her. "I'm a Malfoy, remember, we're cold."

She pressed her arm unknowingly towards his own and murmured, "no, you're not. You're obnoxious, lying, deceiving, hurting and insensitive. You're also devious and utterly ridiculous and you use too much hair products. But you're not cold."

"Gee, thanks," Draco heard himself say but he let out a short laughter after. It felt silent after that, the only thing he could hear was her breathing heavily and probably feeling nausea from the Romanian Poison as he would call it himself.

"That was an intriguing sound, your laughter," Hermione whispered after a while and murmured something that sounded like 'Night'.

He was sure that she had fallen asleep a long time ago when she placed her hand over his ridged body and crawled closer. He excused her for being asleep – or even assuming he was that red headed baboon – while doing that but only to gain more warmth from her he unbuttoned half his shirt and rolled up his sleeves before laying his arm across her waist. The words 'that was an intriguing sound, your laughter' stayed in his head and before he fell asleep with Hermione Granger in an awkward embrace he whispered, "Thank you."

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**[Day 27]**

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When he woke up the following day it was with his arm under Hermione's head and her head resting on his chest. Their legs were wrapped along with the covers and Hermione's hand rested inside of Draco's shirt, inches away from his heart. He felt comfortable before he realized why; he had gotten a good night's sleep and it was because of Granger. He considered this for a while before agreeing that this was even worse than waking up and thinking he spent the night with Millicent Bulstrode. Still, he didn't dare to move, he felt warm, sleepy and he could have stayed here for a while longer so he closed his eyes. If it wasn't for Hermione waking up only minutes after, realizing where she was and gasping so loudly that Draco had to pretend to be awoken he would've stayed there all day.

Hermione stood up from the bed and looked startled from the bed where she had been, to her clothes on the floor and lastly to Draco who stared at her with his rolled up sleeves and unbuttoned shirt.

"What," Hermione started. "Happened yesterday?"

"You had too much Romanian Water, probably," Draco said carefully. "I insisted on you sleeping on the bed and me on the sofa but you refused."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "No you didn't!"

Draco smirked. "Yeah, you're right. Nevertheless, you came here, pissed as hell and crawled into bed."

"I shared the bed with you, didn't I?" Hermione exclaimed and it dawned to her that it was she who crawled into his bed. Slowly Draco saw Hermione puzzling yesterday's events together in her head, as always it was a rather thick sight to behold. It was with a pale look that she announced that she was taking a shower. "I need a shower. I'm taking a shower!"

"Well, at least I'm sure I'm not sharing _that_ with you," Draco assured her.

Hermione stared at him like he was a ghost. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" she said and slammed the bathroom door behind him.

When they both had taken a shower and got dressed for today's events, they shared a quiet breakfast down at the bar. The men around them were looking at Hermione with fascination. 'Heard she swallowed more Romanian than good old Water Wayne before she got pissed,' some Englishmen said while others were talking about her and Feyrevic intense conversations last night. The ladder annoyed Draco and he might've chopped his eggs a little bit harder than intended, which made Hermione give him a stiff stare. When they were getting ready to leave, still in silence, they took a cab on Draco's demand because he didn't know where to Apparate too. The ride was even more uncomfortable, with Hermione sitting on the front with assumingly one from the bar yesterday. The man was still a bit wasted from yesterday, Draco knew by the bumpy and unsafe way he drove them, or it was Hermione's vivid explanation of the English Ministry that distracted him. When they finally arrived to the outside of camp Hermione paid and waved him off like the driver had been exceptional at his work. Draco took the lead and walked past a lonely sign that said 'ROMANIAN DRAGON CAMP' and through the empty camp towards the path that he walked on almost a month ago. With Hermione catching up from behind him he didn't feel the same kind of peace he did the first time he walked and when they walked the path it seemed to be longer than before. It was when they finally arrived to the four trees that were chained at the fire spitting and roaring dragon that Draco chose to speak.

"This is the sick dragon I'm fighting for," he said and presented The German Redeye called Jean with a hand movement. He saw how the dragon was struggling and hurting while the five dragon handlers around her were throwing water and potions blends to help her out. He somehow know it was in vain, somehow he realized that whatever he had was what she had and in the end one of them were going to lose.

"Is she the one that is sick?" Hermione asked and gasped. "No, no. . ." Both her tiny hands were now covering her mouth and Draco saw a tear fall down across Hermione's cheek, realizing that this was the first time he actually saw her cry.

"Oh, my beautiful Jean," Hermione uttered and she sobbed as quietly she could manage. "I've missed you. . ."

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_Oh, the excitement… review!_


	10. Irrational Jean

**SwedishA/N: Irrational Reasoning: **I hate how sometimes the words get caught in your throat and you just don't know how to put them on paper. I hate how sometimes the time just escapes between your fingers and you do your best to grab it but it slips, like most things do. I absolutely hate that I hate these things that are so normal in an everyday life.

**But then again, without those moments, how would I love those moments, when effortlessly you write, and with glory you publish and time freezes because, for once, it's on your side...**

Enjoy.

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**Chapter ten:**

Irrational Jean

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**[Day 27]**

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Hermione stared into the red depths of Jean and remembered everything this dragon did for her. Her first visit in Romania had been all about her and it was a trip that had convinced her that she was going into helping Magical Creatures. How she ended up in Magical Law she doesn't recall.

"Do you know Jean?" Draco asked with hesitation across his face, interrupting her from her thoughts.

"She's named after me actually – my full name is Hermione Jean Granger. It was Ron who named her and," she said but was interrupted by the squeal of Jean. From a far she could recognize the same sound that Jean had made the first time they meet. "Oh, she missed me too," Hermione hummed.

Draco looked at the untamable beast that lowered its head to meet Hermiones eyes from a far. Hermione walked around on the spot mumbling something about uncontrollable flames and feisty temper. From the same source as the squeal of joy as Hermione interpreted it came, so did huge waves of flames come. The five dragon handlers had seemed to notice that Hermione was considering closing up once she heard Jean call for her so they all started to yell 'run away'.

"Where's Charlie?" Hermione asked them in a shout instead, not moving an inch from the place while Draco had already moved a couple of inches, whatever that would do for him once Jean decided to grill him.

"He's out getting medical help," one of them shouted back, a gorgeous black haired woman dressed in care-clothes. "Run away, she's out of control."

"She won't hurt me, I know her," Hermione replied, now arms crossed.

Draco was the one who took initiative now. "You're acting foolish. She's ill." He gripped her arm as soon as Jean started to approach them and dragged her forcefully towards the path they came from.

"Let me go!" Hermione demanded in vain.

Draco was persistent. "No, you're coming with me. I can't afford having my lawyer turning into one of Blaises grilled ribs."

"Delicious?" Hermione asked rebelliously, while she fought against Dracos grip that had moved from her arm to her whole body.

Draco scowled. "Burned."

"She _won't_ hurt me," Hermione insisted for the second time and with an ugly placed bite on his arm she broke free and started to run towards the huge dragon. Jean was taking huge steps towards Hermione with the same squeal as before while the dragon keepers shot stunning spells that didn't even affect Jean. Once Hermione had got close enough to be burned whenever Jean started to spit fire Draco seemed to panic.

"Hermione, no!" Draco yelled and Hermione spun around startled. Had he even dared to call her by his first name, was everything she thought and she forgot that she had the sick, approaching dragon behind her.

Dracos eyes widened, perhaps he too realized what had just happened, she though.

While she shrugged, trying to tell him without words that it was okay to call her Hermione he started to run towards her. She reasoned that he would either Oblivate her into oblivion like Gyllenroy had done to himself (why is it that Gyllenroy always comes to mind at spontaneous times, she wondered in the middle of all). Instead he came running with his hands open wide and she understood that this was time for a very inappropriate embrace after their new found first name basis. When Draco had closed up to her he grabbed her and for a brief second she could only feel how cold his grip was and how warm her back was getting. A second later she laid on the wooden floor with Draco on top of her, his pulse beating roughly against her own and his body covering every inch of her.

"Do you have a have-to-be-saved complex?" Draco asked, furious. He was so close to her that their cheeks were pressing hard against each other and she could feel him pronounce every word. The breath escaping with his words felt like ice against her warm skin. "Why do you always insist on being right?" he asked.

In the corner of her eye she saw Jean squealing with sorrow and the spot that she had been standing on before Draco came flying had turned into a black pit from her flames.

"It's your fault!" Hermione exclaimed and hit him hard across the chest, she was furious with herself but it was easier blaming Draco. "You called me Hermione, you know."

"What! What does that have to do with anything?" Draco asked, still as furious.

Jean was now walking towards them while they were still lying on the wooden floor, bickering. The look in Jeans eyes, Hermione saw, was seeking forgiveness but she also saw the smolder leaving her nostrils and realized how serious the situation was. Jean was going to burn them, again and all she could think of in that moment was black and then . . .

"RUN!" all the dragon handlers yelled and this time she got up.

"RIGHT! COME ON!" she demanded when Draco was lying frozen on the ground, just staring at the huge red eyes of Jean.

When Draco seemed not to react to the seriousness of the situation or he was simply glued onto the spot. Instead of waiting for Draco to use whatever was underneath the blond hair she took action and raised her wand and shot a ray of water, first at Draco and then at Jean. Once Jean was confused with the water in her nose she ran towards Draco and clasped his hand to drag him up. It felt like his legs refused to carry him but when she was yelling to him that it was no time for games he dragged himself up. While holding him tight they started to run from the uncontrolled flames that Jean was once again sending towards all directions. They didn't stop running until they were far into the wooden path they came from. It was only then that they realized that they were holding each other's sweaty hands in a setting that fitted any magical fairytale. Draco let go of her grip quickly and brushed his dirty hand of on his even dirtier dress robes.

"What was that!" Hermione demanded, outraged. "Who on earth sits and waits for a dragon to burn them up!"

"Who on earth - ," Draco yelled back and now paused for emphasis. "_Run_ into a fire spitting dragon or any danger while we're on that matter and waits for rescue."

"Don't even say that I run into danger voluntarily, you don't even know me," Hermione retorted, still yelling. "You seem to have a have-to-be-saved complex, Draco. And yes, I called you Draco."

"You're right, I don't know you and it's my pleasure!" Draco shouted with his hands in the air with anger. "And have-to-be-saved complex is not even a word, Hermione. There I said your name, now go off running into a horde of angry dragons for all I care."

"Why did you even save me, Malfoy?" Hermione asked with a dangerous calm in her voice. She however rolled her wand in her right hand.

Draco was now gritting his teeth towards her. "Why did you shower me with water! This used to be a perfectly fine silk shirt."

"Oh!" Hermione started and closed up to brush of his shirt but developed to forecfull hitting at Dracos chest. "Instead of thanking me for saving your life, you're wondering about your shirt!"

"I saved your life first!" Draco said and grabbed her shoulders to make her stop hitting him. "You're so irrational! Why do you have the need of fighting all the time! I am not Weasel, okay; I don't care about winning you back. The only thing I have in common with that poor loser is that I have you."

"You _have_ me?" Hermione said, challenging him with her eyes while he was keeping his fixed stare at hers. She saw the nervous twitch in his eyes after a while and with that she knew that she had won.

It was always too easy, she thought as she slowly placed her hands on his shoulders, to prove a point. When she looked down, right on his chest and planned to look straight into his eyes with a innocent look she wanted to prove who it was that was the irrational one of them. She gave him a look and for a brief second she spotted the mercy in his eyes before they turned to their original, deep, stale, worn out gray. It was these things that made her a good lawyer she reasoned as she leaned in close to see if he would meet her half way, her lips already slightly parted. During this whole ordeal she smelled the smell of Draco and realized that it was very addictive. The smell of man, fire, aftershave and something sweet, unidentified was finding their way into her nostrils. She also noticed that when he hesitated he raised his eyebrows just a fraction and when he tried to make up his mind about something hard a thick line was formed for a brief second across his forehead on the smooth skin.

For a brief second, while her lips were slightly parted and she felt his lips closing up she realized that she didn't want anything else during the moment. It was when her real nature found its way from her heart to her head she knew she wanted something more than boys and love.

She wanted justice.

She withdrew her whole body away from Draco who had shut his eyes but was now flickering with them. "Aha!" she started like it was a revelation of a lifetime. "You're the one that's irrational!" Hermione yelled.

Draco looked startled, almost like he had been robbed of something. "What?"

"You go off and insult me and when I test you –," Hermione did a hand gesture between their lips in triumph. "You go all in. That is not rational, therefore I win!"

"Oh. . ." Draco started but then the magnitude of it all hit him. "OH!" he burst out grabbed Hermione so hard that she could feel his nails digging into her skin and drew her in so close that she was about to fall into temptation again. "You're the most ann - ,"

"Animal loving and highly trained lawyer there is in the field of magical creatures and dark arts, Draco," said a familiar voice from behind them.

Hermione spun around as soon as she felt Dracos grip of her loosen and faced the owner of the voice. Between the trees came the big, red-haired man that was so familiar looking. His robust and unshaved look with those eyes that she once had fallen in love with was making her inhale slightly without knowing why. It was not like he was Ron, but he was a Weasley.

"Charlie," she said and she leaped towards him and gave him a hug.

Charlie laughed once Hermione let him go. "It was too long, Hermione, how are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," Hermione said, although the sight of something as familiar as Charlie and something as unfamiliar as the urge of actually kissing someone as obnoxious as Malfoy was mixing in her head.

"You've met Jean again, after all those years, I see," Charlie said and laughed at the sight of Dracos wet attire and Hermiones dirty clothes.

"Yes," Draco sneered. "We got more than a meeting thanks to Granger."

"Well, how would I know that she was _that_ sick," Hermione retorted.

"Oh, here's a hint," Draco said calmly but broke into a shout. "THEY WERE ALL YELLING RUN!"

"There, there. That explains you guys yelling in the woods," Charlie said, trying to calm them down. "Come on, it's almost suppertime and you must be starving after fighting a German Redeye. At least I am and the only thing I've been doing was visiting the pharmacy."

"I am kind of hungry," Hermione admitted but she highly doubted that she could be as hungry as a Weasley.

"That's the spirit," Charlie said, encouraging. Draco merely glared and followed. When Charlie saw this dislike in Draco he said, "Here. Something that might cheer you up," and handed him a vial with purple fluid. She watched Draco look grateful over the vial of hair cream and then see him unscrew the vial before he realized that there was no mirrors in the woods.

"Hair products?" Hermione demanded, and she was laughing a false, high pitched laughter. "Of course that's the only thing that could cheer Draco Malfoy up. A clean shirt or a stupid vial of hair products!"

Charlie gave Draco a warning look that she interpreted as 'don't give her more to be angry about' but the look of Draco that she had almost mastered clearly read as 'don't say a word'. Nothing fit in the context.

Finally Draco replied, a annoying, in character reply. "Oh, you know us Malfoys, alright. We're all about the evil schemes and the hair products."

.

They walked in silence back to the camp where the dragon keepers had been randomly leaving kitchen supply in a mess, leaving only goo for dinner that seemed to be sausage and eggs in tinplates. Both Hermione and Draco watched how Charlie contently stared at the huge tinplates and rubbed his belly. As Hermione glanced at Draco for a brief second she spotted the same dislike in his face as she assumed she had on her own. Charlie looked after tinplates and forks for them, finding only three forks, two plates and a note that he read with furrowed brows.

"I have to go. It's Jean," Charlie said and then he chuckled. "They took my plate so I wouldn't be tempted to stay; it seems that you are entitled to the feast all to yourself."

None of them said a word, as stubborn as they were, they both merely nodded as a reply.

Charlie sighted and lifted up a huge vial of bright yellow liquid from his traveling coat. "We're trying to make her sleep through the night, poor Jean. I'll see you later."

The dinner was stiff, mostly because they force ate the goo in silence. They accidently reached for the fork in the goo, three times, and instead of letting the other person take the fork both had a discrete fight. Hermione, who didn't like to think of herself as a score keeper, had won two out of three. When they had finished as much as they managed without puking it all back into the tinplate, honestly Hermione could not tell the difference if they did, a few of the dragon keepers started to come back. When the first sat down, the beautiful dark haired woman crashed next to Draco and said hello. He greeted her politely.

She remembered how Ron would stay glued on the spot until the woman had grown bored with him but Draco shared pleasantries with her until he excused himself from the inexistent table to take a stroll. Hermione watched him leave, a sight she had long known she enjoyed, and returned to a deep conversation with a rather bulky woman who was telling her about what it really was with Jean.

A few stars had managed to appear at the sky when Hermione had got everything explained to her about the ancient disease called DHF, or more commonly called Dragon Heart Failure. It was when the dragon overheated until it died and only hearing this made Hermione's eyes go blurry with tears. They all agreed it was a horrible way to go for Jean as the raised their glasses with Romanian Water to salute one of their many dragons. When the first dragon keeper yawned, all of them seemed to take it as the end of the night and slowly they all withdrew themselves towards their tents. When only Hermione and Charlie sat around the sparking fire, sharing an anecdote from the past in laughter it dawned to Hermione what had been missing through the night.

"Malfoy!" She exclaimed.

"And you're only noticing him now?" Charlie replied.

Hermione felt guilty. "I know, I know. Do you know where he is?"

"Hey, most of the time I don't even know where I am," Charlie confessed and despite this irresponsible reply he took himself another glass of Romanian Water.

"I better find him," Hermione declared and left Charlie after his weak, 'aye'.

She started out with circulating the camping area, calling his surname as she wondered slowly. When that didn't give she started to go into the woods with her wand ready, not fearing much because she had been through worse than wondering a dark, dragon filled forest in the middle of the night. While she walked she wondered how much he had been through and if he might've been lost, or lonely. Now, in pure desperation, she started to call him by his first name while searching. When that didn't work for her either she started to recall the day's events and slowly realized that the last place she would want to visit after that day's ordeal was probably the first place Draco would choose to be in. Slowly she walked towards the part of the woods where the path to Jean was and it didn't take long before she spotted Draco at the end of the path, a small distance between him and Jeans sleeping head.

He held his arms crossed and his back perfectly straight she noticed when she first took the time to see him. Besides the flaming jars of fire that the dragon keepers had put up around Jean his hair was the only source of light. It looked almost white in the light of flaming jars. Almost as she thought that watching him from a far was tragically beautiful he sighed, making his shoulders raised up and down in a very human movement. It was then that she decided to get closer to him.

"Hey, are you okay?" Hermione started when she stood next to him. She met Dracos eyes for a brief second and saw that they were red and puffy. By seeing the glistering streaks across his cheeks she judged that he had been crying. "Listen, I'm sorry about today," she started.

"No, let's not get into that," Draco interrupted. "You don't have to apologize."

"But yes, I have to, I jeopardized your life. I acted without thinking and I don't know why, I rarely do. Then again you did too, who runs like that anyways? If you're not Harry, he always has to act foolishly for those he cares about. And on top of things I don't know why you stayed glued onto the spot either once you were in danger," Hermione carried on. "Who's legs refuse to carry themselves, especially – ".

"Let's just _not_ get into that, again," Draco interrupted again.

"Sorry," she said. "It's a habit to analyze too much."

"She remembers you," Draco said instead. "Jean knows who you are. I saw that too." He looked at her now with sincere fascination.

She took a step forward and felt Draco flinch behind her. It was a comforting feeling to know that he was scared when she wasn't. She was determined to approach Jean tonight and with both her eyes kept on the sleeping Jeans shut eyes she took yet another step closer. If they flinched, if only for a second, she was ready to run. When that was safe she rounded her head and stood behind her huge neck and patted her slowly across her cheeks.

"I used to be afraid of these things, since the tri-wizard tournament when Harry almost got eaten by one. Nightmares, however, were new. After the. . . war I got them and there was always me being chased in a Gringotts tunnel with vicious dragons behind me," she paused.

The intimacy of her dreams was too much for a client/lawyer relationship, then again sharing a bed with your client was not much of an improvement. Neither was almost kissing him to prove a much logical point. That was psychically though; she was going to tell him about one of the many scars she got from the war, one of those that the magazines could not make a cover about.

"Go on," Draco said from besides her. "I want to hear more about Jean."

She paused and remembered how much Draco loved this dragon. "Come," she said and waved him to the spot she was at behind Jeans head. "Touch her," she said before she gave the sleeping dragon a soft kiss on her neck. 'Thank you' she whispered towards Jean.

Draco hesitated. "No. Haven't you heard of the term never tickle a sleeping dragon?"

"Funny," Hermione said and smiled. "I, if someone, have come across the school motto."

Draco laughed weakly and that sound was intoxicating.

"It's easy. Just come over here and look her carefully in her eyes, put your hands on her cheek," Hermione said and looked fondly towards Jean. "And give her a little kiss if you dare to."

Draco looked at her, at Jean and then back at her. "Fine," he declared. "If you can, so can I."

She watched Draco carefully walk towards the spot where she stood with his eyes carefully looking at Jean. Once he came close enough to touch Jean he ran his fingers across her cheeks with fascination in his puffy, red and gray eyes and with a small smile across his lips. When he had petted the dragon for long enough to not be scared anymore he leaned in and gave it a feather light kiss on the cheek, just as she had instructed.

"See," Hermione said. "I think she would've liked you if she was given the time."

Draco had the same small smile across his lips when he looked at Jean and then at her. A few tears welled up in the corner of his eyes, she saw.

"Don't cry," she soothed when a few of them found their way down his cheeks. She stroke them away with her thumb, the wet, vulnerable feel of salty tears stinging in a invisible wound on her thumb. When she had realized that it was an act of sincere care for him she took a hesitating step backwards, now leaning on Jeans thick skin.

He carefully held his eyes on hers, and she spotted him twitch. She knew everything about dragons and when a dragon twitched you were going to withdraw your whole body and take cover but this blond dragon in front of her was instead closing up on her, now close enough for her to feel trapped but her instincts told her to stay put. She felt his once cold, but now warm, hands cup her cheeks and his thumbs stoke her cheeks carefully. She moved back towards him and placed her hands on the same place that she had woken up with them on.

"Irrational," Hermione murmured vaguely but Draco ignored her because he was inches away from her lips and waiting for her to meet him.

She illuminated the small distance between their parted lips but it was he who took the final step and she felt his moist lips meet hers tenderly. The sweet smell of Draco was lemon drops because it was what his gently moving tongue tasted like and she had never enjoyed the taste of lemon drop as much as she did when Draco proceeded in kissing her exactly like she had been fantasizing to be kissed.

It was when their lips and bodies moved melodiously, on the same accord for once, that she realized that kissing Draco Malfoy was a far more warming experience that she had ever counted with.

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This fic is low on reviews! Boost it up a bit for me, will you? :) with love, Lumos Maximum._**


	11. Last Day

**SWEDISHA/N: Well, this is actually the longest chapter in this tale so enjoy a, slightly longer, slightly intense, chapter of Counting Days!  
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_.swedish.a/n: The Fanfiction ERROR! W.. t... no cursing but F! Alas, after a annoying week and some mixing with the bug. Here we are, publishing. nice._

**Chapter eleven:  
**Last Day

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**[Day 28]**

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When Draco first woke up his instincts told him that he woke up in a completely wrong place, time and way. While opening his eyes, trying to adjust to the light he was bathing in, he wondered if this was heaven or simply a horrible wake up call. The ladder was much truer, he realized, when he let the sight sink in. In front of him was grass, a rock, a blurry sight far away of something red eyed trying to adjust to the sunlight and then there was his hand clasping someone else's hand. After blinking a couple of times to adjust properly he saw the grass, the rock, the blurry sight of Jean looking as sick as he felt and then he saw his hand that was clasping Hermione's hand.

Draco had never gotten up from a bed, or any wooden floor, that fast. He took a few, hasty steps away from the scene of the peacefully sleeping Hermione and blinked a couple of times to grasp what his eyes had been telling him. She was _there_ and it had dawned to him that last night's events could be traced back to him and only him but before he could think much further about it the trees rattled. Out of them came the robust, red-haired Weasel that Draco had agreed to accept as part-human comparing to the rest of them.

"Good morning," Draco said and tried not to look so guilty. "Jean is almost waking up," he added and pointed towards where Jean was out of reach.

"How is close-to-supper time a 'good morning' saying time? Hey, by the way, I like you, Draco," Charlie said instead with a poisonous, slightly hangover tone. "Don't mess that up."

"How can I mess up with Jean?" Draco said and made a pause. After yesterday he had fallen in love with Jean and knowing what would happen with Jean once he got her back home with her in England he regretted ever making a bond with the dragon.

"You're bound to mess that up," Charlie said and avoided to go further into the details concerning Jean. Draco hated knowing what Charlie meant with that. "I meant Hermione, don't mess that up."

"Yeah, yeah, I know – she's your brothers girl, no, she _was_ your brothers girl," Draco said, shrugging the matter that he actually wouldn't dare to mess that up away. If there was something he feared more than death and Jeans flames it had to be Hermione when she was angry.

"No, not just that," Charlie said, and his voice was dangerously low. "She's _everybody's_ girl."

Draco looked at the messy haired girl on the wooden floor a short walk away, clutching onto his jacket for warmth in her sleep. She looked so pathetically beautiful he agreed to himself, beautiful because yesterday he had chosen to kiss her, pathetically because she had not stopped him. He would not lie, she had been an exceptional kisser and he did not regret his decision for once. He had, after all, thought that his last day on earth was closing up and apart from one of the dragon taming women she was the only kissable in the area of Romania.

It was not like _they_ were a thing that would repeat itself; he still had to follow the ethics of his bloodline and she was muggleborn and on top of that she was Hermione _Granger_.

He could still taste the kiss thought, it had first started out with him being physically attracted to her once she had come to find him. Then she saw him being broken without being intimidated, instead she had been as annoying as only she could be while he got a second to collect himself. After that she had dared him, at least that's how he saw it, and he had to man up, and eventually kiss her. Somewhere in her kiss, the part in which she had withdrawn and explained how stupid this was with six supporting points that she had invented on spot, he realized that there was something that attracted him more than her being a woman. He doubted that it was the know-it-all manner that she was so keen on obtaining but it made him want to kiss her to shut her up, which he did, many times. Until she forgot four of the supportive six points and had only a low murmur of the word 'irrational' left in her mouth between the small gasps of air.

Once again, collecting his thought and returning to his drawling state Draco drawled. "How can I mess up something I'm not involved in?"

"Don't get smart with me, kid," Charlie said and placed his big hand across Draco's forehead and eyes. "Shite, don't do any heavy magic, it will drain you and that's what happened –." Charlie said with sincere worry before Draco chose to interrupt.

"What are you doing?" Draco demanded, emphasizing the word what, when he felt his eyelashes pressed against his orbs. "Who knows where your paws have been?" Draco started but was interrupted by Charlie's rough hand shoving a tiny bottle of purple liquid into his cold hand.

"You're freezing, I expected you to have your own supply when coming here," Charlie said roughly. He seemed not to have taken notice of the events that just unfolded.

"Hermione broke them," Draco explained bitterly, only to be interrupted once again, this time by Jean squealing so that the birds in the close by trees fled.

"So you're on first name basis now?" Charlie asked and added, "How many days left?"

Refusing to reply to that first IQ of a Weasel question, he replied. "What do you mean, how many days?"

"You're making the poor girl fall in love with a dying man, have you ever thought about that? Whatever you're feeling she's probably feeling it ten times more, they're sensitive, women, they know so much more about the world and everything in it than we ever will," Charlie murmured with one eye on the sleeping Hermione. "You never make a woman fall in love with you if you can't offer her more than love so tell her that you're dying, Draco, because I won't."

"In love? What do _you_ know about women?" Draco replied instead, tone hostile."Do you even care about the existence of women when there's a dragon around?"

"You would be surprised what I would do for them. I could kill and I would get away with murder, much like you're trying too," Charlie said and now looked at Jean from the far with hurting eyes. "Don't act foolish, you count the days and I count Jeans. Everybody who's on death row does, so once again, how many days?"

Draco twitched, on the short distance between them Hermione shifted, almost waking up. "Tonight, okay, I was given a month and a month is tonight."

Charlie looked at Draco, real pity in his eyes, and he placed one hand on Draco's shoulder murmuring, "that's hard, mate, you and Jean."

"Is, is she dying tonight too?" Draco asked, and the real fright that death brought him hit him hard.

"They say so," Charlie said. "But I doubt it, she's strong. You're too."

Draco felt his airways tighten. "Thanks."

Charlie gave him a weak smile. "I better go give Jean her potion," he said and shook the bucket he held in his hand. In it Draco could see a yellow looking thickness that resembled his own potion. Yellow that is the opposite of purple looked less forgiving than the soothing color of his potion, unlike his potion Jeans looked as it was about to freeze any minute. Draco sympathized with Jean that was forced to drink a whole bucket of that.

"Oh, and Draco," Charlie added while walking towards Jean that looked like a small dot from where Draco was standing.

"Yes?" Draco said and unscrewed his own bottle and downed it, frowning.

"If it weren't for you being a pale looking prick and me being a redheaded, freckled bottom we would've been good friends, wouldn't we?" Charlie asked, laughing. "You know, riding my dragons at day and using that hair product of yours at night."

"Hair product!" said a voice from behind Draco that he knew was Hermione's. "Even in the woods you carry hair products!"

Draco looked at Charlie gratefully; the wide shouldered dragon tamer that warned him about her presence. Charlie was more human than he had ever felt, he realized, with his raw honesty and his compassion. But he was a Malfoy; he was not spending his last days being angelic. He snuck the empty vial into his pocket and replied to Charlie's question. "I highly doubt our friendship, Weasley," he said with a light tone that caused Charlie to laugh even more.

After that he spun around to face Hermione who was wearing his jacket over her shoulders and a newly awaken look across her eyes. On her cheek, the right one, were patters from the grass she just got up from and a few straws of grass had tangled themselves into her mane of hair.

"What are you talking about? I have no hair products," he drawled. Although he found her to be prettier than before he realized how annoying Hermione was when she wasn't quiet. In his head, while he looked at the wild mane of Hermione, he thought that she actually should consider carrying hair products with her, everywhere.

"Sorry," Hermione said, a word that caused Draco to shiver inside with dislike. "Good morning by the way, did you have a good night's sleep?" she asked and her words were followed by an awkward silence.

They both were staring at each other both. He recapped last night evens in his head again and he was sure that she was doing so too. Just as much as he could vision the whole scenery in which the source of this awkwardness played out he knew she could. He could see her hair tangled in his fingers and her arms around his neck. He was also sure that she could hear him take those sharp inhales and see herself look at him with that look that begged for more kisses. Right now, however, there wasn't much time for staring games, Draco decided.

He had not much time to play these games now that he was actually grasping how close he was to death and now that he found out that Jean was dying in his paste. He could have spent the whole day, staring at Hermione's ordinary browns to win this silence game if he found it necessary because he had always known himself, he would not just _die_. It didn't just happen, when he was leaving this god forsaken place called earth he would leave with a bang, a crack or at least a dramatic 'no' following his last words. The moment was not here, not yet, but what scared him enough to take on this fight against life was Jean. He was just not so sure that Jean had the same view on life that she would want to exit life dramatically.

He collected all the courage in him and spoke. "So you kissed me yesterday, big deal," Draco said. "There, I killed the huge Hippogriff in this forest. "

"_You_ kissed _me_ yesterday," Hermione corrected.

Draco glared at her. "That's was what I said."

Hermione glared angrily back at him. "I'm leaving with Portkey in an hour," she announced. "Due to the oversleeping from my part I'm in a hurry to catch the last one from Romania. Either you come with me or not."

"I can't leave before midnight tonight, Jean is dying," Draco blurred out hastily.

"Oh," Hermione managed to say, and despite her attempt to keep her tone as chilly as his was during a boring read he spotted the fear and the sadness in her body language. She clutched her arms and widened her eyes slightly. "Well, I guess we can Apparate after midnight, it's not pleasant overseas but that's the only thing that will bring us back that late. I have to be back before tomorrow morning, it's work."

"Work! Is there something else you're having your way?" Draco asked with a teasing voice.

Hermione really struggled with not smiling but he could see her lips forming a narrow smile nevertheless. "Well. . . I'm having breakfast," she announced and handed him the jacket.

"During the afternoon? At this camp?" he said. "Am I the only one with a recent memory of what these guys eat?"

Hermione let out an involuntarily laughter. "You take what you get, I guess. Got any better suggestions?"

"Why, yes, I do," Draco said in a matter-of-fact manner that would make Hermione doubt her own. He handed her his jacket again because her shoulders were bare. Her skin was distracting and his thoughts involuntarily went to what Hermione get and didn't get. "We're going downtown. For dinner."

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They had been strolling the quite empty streets of the little village next to the Dragon Camp. When Draco had said 'Downtown' he had meant a vibrating city with exquisite food and expensive shops that even he only glanced at hastily before deciding that it was too much for whatever garment was in fashion. Hermione, who walked around, fascinated to an extent that he wondered if they were walking down the same street, seemed content.

Despite Draco having his finest shoes destroyed by the uneven pavement and the muddy roads he enjoyed his evening. They had been to the finest restaurant on the little village, that served the foulest hamburger he'd ever tasted, but seeing Hermione say 'mm, this is delicious' with a effort to please him had been enough to make him laugh and re-order the whole meal. After that they had been carelessly floating between the few shops where he bought Hermione a set of Silver dipped Quills despite her insisting that she didn't need anything that fancy. He considered to get her the Golden dipped Quills but it was so Gryffindor. . .

When the first chilly breeze hit them, Draco too numb with his irregular body heat to even notice, Hermione insisted on them both having tea before going back to camp. What started as a cup of hot tea escalated to five to six cups and a livid conversation about art and books. He warmed his cold hands with the cups, never really drinking it, while Hermione had to leave for the bathroom after every third cup. Their conversation brought a crowd towards them. He argued for hours about what art was while she held a heated debate with him about the importance of well written textbooks. When he couldn't be bothered to talk about that with her any longer they changed the subject, now trying to answer the riddle of life instead. It seemed to depress Hermione more than it did him, and he was the one dying.

She told him about Harry and he saw how she had hesitated with telling him this at first. When he reminded her that he had in fact had his tongue in her mouth, causing her to spit out half her tea on his white shirt before breaking into hysteric laughter, everything seemed to loosen up for them. Their conversation became lighter. He enjoyed her conversation, the way she explained her ways with hand gestures and faces and he had no regrets of spending his last day, if it should end here, in the little teashop with her. Especially when she went into a hysteric laughter when he told her about something him and Blaise had did when they were smaller or when she caused him to rethink his views when she debated over the smallest of things.

When it got late and a conversation about the sparkling fire next to them reminded them about Jean they headed back towards the road they came from, now talking about France. They walked for a while, remembering to take every turn and road correctly and pass the camp towards the wooden path towards Jean. When they entered the path, the crowns of the threes illuminated whatever light there was left on the sky. Hermione who seemed to take no notice of the darkness surrounding them but Draco felt the chills down his spine. A particularly loud noise in the woods that Draco was sure could be any human eating or bloodsucking animal that Romania was famous for made both of them jump closer to each other and he spotted the fright in her eyes too.

It was not courageous, then again Draco rarely felt brave, but he grabbed her hand loosely before he realized that his hand must be freezing. She held on tight instead, not carrying much or accepting that it was cold, whatever it was he could not tell. That she didn't even make a remark of this made him appreciate her company even more but he was still telling himself that she was still as annoying as ever.

When they were in the middle, between crossways that all looked the same Hermione brought out her wand. "Lumos Maxima," she said and a small light was shining from the end of her slim wand.

Draco merely looked at the source of light, "Brilliant."

He could see how Hermione smiled in the light of her wand. "Thanks, it's just a stronger Lumos. Now you do one."

"Right," Draco said, although he hadn't used any magic since The Hungarian Inn. He fished out his wand, mumbling, "lumos maxima," while praying that there would come out something at the end of his wand. It was typical male; he thought, but the bigger, the better.

At the end of his wand was a weak, yellowish and flickering light that could not even match Hermione's bright, white and powerful light. He knew it was below mediocre but she smiled and said, "Good. Now let's go," and this time she was the one reaching out for his hand.

They walked in silence, her light guiding them more than his weakening light. He didn't know if it was the ordeal of walking or if it was tiredness or even the use of magic but he slowly felt like a battery unchanging and for every step he took he felt the urge to fall down. It was only her presence, and the need to maintain whatever he played at, that kept him walking.

The narrow path that they walked on ended and at the end he saw flames. He saw hell.

"Jean," Hermione gasped towards the monster that was spitting out fire while he was freezing to death.

The dragon, which he now loved in a complicated way, howled something that he should not understand. But he did and it was the language of defeat. The wimping and the pain that she tried to tell her keepers about, he felt, the heat she felt, he felt in coldness. He knew how it felt to feel like everything was ripping, tearing and shifting without the purple potion. Watching her whim, a sound that Draco knew was nothing more than a wish of death, made him lose himself. He felt as he was losing the grip of the days and of the beat of his heart at times, he felt weak and worn out. It was then it really hit him, the reality and the magnitude of it all had finally hit him like a stunning spell.

For a split second his knees bent.

Hermione grabbed him. "Why are you so cold and pale?" Hermione asked and cast her wand light directly under his face.

Draco stared at her blankly, his eyes trying to find hers throughout the light between them. "Death," he murmured vaguely. "Her death scares me."

Hermione flung herself on him while her tears were wetting down his dry cheeks. "I know you can't leave, Draco, you love her so much," she murmured. "Stay here and I promise I will do everything to get her to England before. . ." She silenced now, only sobs and her nails digging into his back was all he could feel.

Draco felt something inside of him tug. If he was dying tonight, he didn't want it to be in a forest with a dragon that he had already placed a death sentence on, illness or not. He somehow didn't care how he went any longer; he didn't care much about the dramatic exit of Draco Malfoy now that it hit him that once you exited you stayed like that. He just got this feeling that holding someone's hand was the way to go and if she left, Hermione, he would be left holding Charlie's robust, unsmooth hand when he passed towards his ancestors.

Dying next to a Weasley is seven times and a Knut worse than dying next to a muggleborn.

"This is why we need to get her to England," Draco said instead, composed. "We're going tonight. I'm going back with you to get it done," he said and he was now holding Hermione harder.

He faced Jean that looked at him with glistering eyes and he knew by looking at her that he was crying unwillingly. The emotions that were bottled up since the day at St: Mungos when the Private Doctor had told him about his illness, Dragon Heart Failure, all poured out. When Hermione felt him shiver she withdrew herself slowly from holding him to say a few comforting words but Draco didn't let her go. For once he never wanted to let anything of good go, he just held her hard, letting himself crumple in her arms but prayed that this was not taken as weakness. They stood like that, slowly stopping to cry and now just holding each other for warmth, comfort and something else that Draco didn't know he felt.

With a low voice from behind them Charlie made them both turn to face him. He said something that reminded Draco about this morning,"I would not leave this camp with Apparation if I was you Draco; remember what I told you about. . . _Jean's_ illness, this morning?"

Hermione murmured something about goodbyes to the girls as Charlie requested to have a private word with Draco. It dawned to Draco that Charlie was talking about him not doing any heavy magic. His magic was already weak and that had been the everyday spells. Apparating through different lands to get to London from Romania he knew by experience was not pleasant. Then again, this was his last day and Hermione looked devastated at the scene from the group of keepers she stood with, ready to leave it and Draco was almost ready to leave anywhere with her.

"I need to get back to England," Draco told Charlie and sighed, now looking at Hermione who was mumbling healing spells under her breath along with the other keepers to shoot at Jean from a far.

Charlie then whispered something quiet, "It'll kill you."

Looking at Hermione who were now fingering her wand restlessly, because Jean was falling to the ground and into a heavy sleep, Draco smirked. "If we don't get home tonight, so will she."

"Fine, it was a good run, kid," Charlie said and now drew him in into a crushing hug that was enough to kill him on the spot. "Don't worry about Jean, just hurry. I hope I'll see you again, Draco. Supremus! Lex!"

"Yeah," Draco said, once released, not understanding the final words of Charlie annoying him. "Whatever you said back at you."

He went over to where Hermione was saying goodbye to all the dragon tamers that stood on the safe clearing a spot away. They were all mumbling their goodnights to each other with a sad filled voice, some of them saying , "Not more than two weeks, she have, a struggler thought," while other murmured, "if she make it through tonight I'd be surprised." The dark-haired woman spoke loudest, "you have no faith," she said angrily, "I'll give her until the dragons in the sky come to summon her."

"We better be going," Draco interrupted because in some weird way it felt like they were talking about him.

They all shifted towards him, some of them squinting towards him like he was see-through while some of them looked sadly at his way. Hermione was the only one that spoke, "Yeah. We have a long trip tonight."

They waved goodbye to go back to the camp where their bags were packed and waiting. They walked towards the camp in silence once again, besides the occasional sobs from Hermione and the sound of chattered teeth from Draco. Once they were ready to travel back to London Hermione prepared her wand and expected Draco to do so. Instead, Draco prepared to ask for help.

"Hermione?" Draco asked and thanked for the darkness in the forest.

"Draco?" Hermione replied.

With her bag firmly in her left hand and her wand in the right she looked like the most powerful thing in this forest. He could feel her energy radiate, although he was sure that those things couldn't be felt, and he was sure that she had enough magic for a whole country to Apparate safely. He asked her the only question that could help him right now, "I'm not feeling. . .like a bottle of Dittany. . .can we Apparate together?"

Hermione hesitated, and then smiled. "Well then," she said and let his hand take hers. "Hold on tight."

Once they were linked he closed his eyes and Apparated along with Hermione. He felt her add so much to him, so much that he felt dizzy and sick to his stomach. Once he dared to open his eyes, a huge mistake, he saw the outlines of something that looked like a German city and felt even worse than before. He shut his eyes, firmly this time, deciding that he would not open them. His hand was slowly slipping away from hers and she, knowing that it could end up in him being lost in the time and space continuum or even worse, Spain, she grabbed him for dear life with her slippery fingers. He tried his best to effort to not let go but he felt done.

Drained.

If he only could let go and accept he would not need this struggle, this fight or this battle. If he could only face his reality, he thought, and opened his eyes but once again he got sick by the thin outlining of an endless mix of blues. Blue, the color blue was safe, if he just let her go or if she just slipped and let him freefall into the blue, endless, blue. . . But she refused, now grabbing the whole of him and he felt slippery with cold sweat and blood. He realized that the pain blazing through his left arm felt like back in those dark days and the blood that got sticky and dry during the speed disguised him, making him look dead, but she didn't seem to mind the dark, twisted blood in his veins, pouring out of him onto her. She grabbed every piece of him that she could get her hands on and for every inch she touched he felt more pain, more heaven like and more endless blue.

He didn't know much about anything right now, in the darkness of his shut eyes, only that he was the empty muggle battery. When things started to stop spinning and starting to shape _she_ was the only thing firm he could see. In the blur, when he only saw her as snapshots he regretted everything he'd ever done her, and would do. She seemed to call his name and shake at him with a desperation he didn't deserve. Hearing her yell while the sound of her disappeared was a horrible feeling and all he really needed was a second extra before whatever happened once it went dark to tell her the truth about the evil, death tricking beast he was. He opened his mouth to speak to her but the word he looked for didn't form, not even air found its way out through the thickness of his throat.

When Draco couldn't breathe any longer his eyes rolled back in exhaustion and his legs bent. Endlessly he fell towards something soft and the last thing he saw before darkness was a snapshot of his bleeding arm, a foul shade of a red brown color and a small inked in word that said; _sorry._

_._

_._

_…_

_._

**A/N:** …review.


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